20. Graham
GRAHAM
There’s someone staring at me.
I don’t sleep soundly. Ever. Never have. It was dangerous in the cellar, to sleep without one eye open.
Something happened last night, though, and I’m sluggish as I try to wake up out of my uncustomarily deep sleep. My body remembers, though.
Wake up—there is someone here.
Finally my eyes open, and I’m staring at a gray T-shirt and inhaling deeply. There’s that smell of something sweet and fruity.
I feel fingers in my hair.
My hand tightens on the hip that, for some reason, I’m gripping.
“Why are you looking at me?”
Dani squawks and falls off the edge of the bed. I peer over at her on the floor.
“You’re hogging the whole bed. Also, did you know your lashes are absurdly long for someone with a Y chromosome?”
“Why are you staring at me?” I demand. “Are you trying to kill me?”
“Relax, you’re not that kind of kidnapper.”
I strangle a curse. “Get back on the bed before someone thinks you spent all night on the floor.”
I don’t want her in the bed with me, of course. I don’t want to curl up next to her, to go back to whatever state that was where I was safe and dreamless.
Her hair is in soft curls around her face. She’s there in my shirt, the outline of her curves under the soft gray fabric, her lips parting when she looks at me, still sleepy, but like she trusts me enough to sleep next to her and not pin her to the mattress.
Not relish in that squeak she’d make when I hike up her leg, run my tongue along her pink slit, bury my face in her pussy, work my fingers up her cunt, suckle her clit until she’s fucking herself on my hand while she squeals like a little sex doll—
“Graham?” Dani asks.
I jump out of bed and rush out of the room, letting the door slam shut behind me.
I need air. I need to go outside. I need the sun and the cold.
I take the stairs on the back staircase two at a time, just so I can sneak out the kitchen door without my family noticing.
“Graham—” My mom starts. The spoon clatters to the floor.
We stand there, me on the top step, her with a bowl in front of her.
“Where’s your shirt?” she finally asks.
“What?” I stare at my reflection in the glass overlooking the snowy yard that leads down to the water. I’m too disoriented. How did I forget to get dressed?
“What time is it?”
“Nine thirty.”
“I think something’s wrong with me.” I blink.
“Well, don’t freak out on me.” Mom gives me a crooked smile. “I just bought this cream cheese, so you can relax.”
Mom grabs a new spoon and scoops the cream cheese into the bowl with the fruit for the stuffed French toast.
I walk around the island to pick up the one on the floor.
She scoots away from me.
It’s enough to snap me back to reality. I run my hand through my hair, trying to get my bearings.
“The bread is stale, though,” Mom continues, “because that’s what French toast is. So don’t get prissy.”
“Did we fall into a parallel universe?” My half brother comes into the kitchen. “Here’s Graham up late, and he’s not even dressed. Did Dani drug you last night?” Ryan laughs and tries to steal a swipe of the strawberry cream cheese.
He throws a sweater at me. “Courtesy of Nana. She’s outside with Dad.”
“Thanks, Ryan,” Mom tells him quietly.
“There’s the little bastard!”
My grandfather—well, Ryan’s grandfather—stomps into the kitchen, letting out a belly laugh.
My mom presses her lips together.
“Grandma, stop!” Bridget clatters down the stairs in her Birkenstocks, Hannah following her. “You’ll scare off Graham. We’ve seen him more in the last couple weeks than we have the last few months.”
Mom hugs my sisters, kissing the tops of their heads.
“Good morning, sleepyheads.”
“Graham, where are your shoes? It’s freezing.” Hannah scoots onto one of the island stools. “Can you turn on the heated floors?”
“They take too much electricity. That’s so wasteful,” Ryan’s grandfather says disapprovingly.
“Graham’s paying the electric bill,” Hannah reminds him, trying to steal the cream cheese mixture.
Frank’s sister helps their mother inside.
“I supposed we should all soak up all this luxury while we can, since I’m sure his new girlfriend is going to make him cut us all out,” Frank’s sister says sourly. “Frank tells me you two are already thinking about getting married.”
Frank’s mother peers at me. “Does she know what he is?”
“Mom—” Frank warns her.
“I just think that this Danielle should be prepared. Na?ve Upper East Side princess. Sounds like what’s-her-name—Emily.”
“Mom, we are trying to have a nice weekend.” Frank’s tense.
The door opens again, the cold air rushing in, chasing away the last blankets of sleep.
That’s my out. My reason for why Dani will eventually break up with me, sooner rather than later.
“Nana”—I hate calling her that, though Frank insists, because it’s too weird for me to call her Mrs. Donnelly—“is right. I think Dani will probably end up breaking up with me over it,” I tell my family smoothly.
“No!” Bridget cries. “She likes you!”
I shrug. “Her parents are old New York. I think they’re trying to nudge her in a more suitable direction. People talk, you know.”
Grandpa Donnelly huffs. “We’re not good enough for those stuck-up Ivy Leaguers? Then fuck ’em. Fuck ’em, I say.”
“Dad, language.”
“We should meet her parents, then, show them that we’re normal people. You’re a normal person.” My mom immediately gets defensive. The whiplash is always a little nauseating.
“I didn’t raise you in a trailer.” She beats the egg-and-cream mixture furiously.
“They don’t have any right to judge my son.
” She slams the bowl down. “See, this is why I didn’t let you go to that fancy boarding school you wanted to go to, Graham.
Because I didn’t want you around people like that, after everything. ” She whips her arms out angrily.
“I can finish the French toast, Mom,” Hannah offers.
“No, I have it.”
Gino, with his children and grandchildren, tumbles into the kitchen.
“My beautiful grandchildren and great-grandchildren.” Frank’s mom and dad greet them with kisses and candy and money.
I hate these gatherings. My family usually meets up at the cabin at least twice a month. I can only stomach a couple of times a year.
Should have gone to Paris.
“I’m going to get dressed,” I mutter to no one.
“Hey.” Ryan jogs after me.
“Do you want your sweater back?” I reach for the hem.
“Hell no, it smells like stale caramels. Look… I wanted to ask about the anniversary party. Bridgie says we’re having a planning session at your place this week? That cool?”
“Sure.” I don’t want to, but I’ll agree to anything to get out of here.
When I’m back in the room, my back against the closed door, I stand there trying to gather my bearings.
Dani’s in the bathroom, her mouth open, her eyes comically wide as she applies mascara.
She stabs herself in the eye. “Son of a—Oh, there you are! Is it ugly sweater day?” She smiles up at me.
I look down and frown.
“I need to change.”
“Do you think this will be all right to wear to breakfast?” she asks. She’s wearing a plaid skirt and black top. “I don’t want to offend anyone.”
She looks soft and huggable.
Get a grip.
“Yeah, it’s fine.”
I hear Dani moving behind me as I slowly dig through my bag.
“Paris,” I mouth when she’s gone.
I feel better when I have on my armor of the three-piece wool suit, the tie, and the three million-dollar watch. I go down the main staircase. I hear them all in the oversized dining room with the painting of the stags my mom found at a swap meet.
Dani’s telling the story about how Lulu came to be.
“And then she’s just like, ‘I can’t stand this dog. It looks just like my ex-husband!’” she says in a fake Boston accent. “It was like ten at night—poor Kraig was there too—and she’s just losing her mind about her ex.”
Kraig.
Ice floods my veins. Then boiling-hot rage until I explode.
“Kraig’s here!” Bridget waves for me to sit between her and Dani. “Did you know that Dani and Kraig work together?”
“They don’t work together,” I say coldly. “Kraig’s just a security guard. He’s replaceable.”
“Oh, Graham, don’t be mean,” Dani chides, sipping her mimosa.
“Is that all you do—drink?” I snap at her and take my seat.
My mom’s mouth is a thin line.
“Work hard, play hard.” Dani just shrugs. “Such is the life in private equity. We make you guys money, and you spend it.”
“You’re not on my accounts,” I bark.
“I’m on your brother’s account.” She winks.
“The fuck you are. I’m calling Greg first thing Monday.”
My family looks appalled.
But Dani just smirks. “Tell me the time. I’ll sell tickets. Greg’s been in a foul mood lately, I hear. I’m sure he’d love to go a round with you.”
“Don’t listen to him, Dani,” Kraig says with that shitty New-Jersey accent, like he’s some extra in a cheap ’80s movie.
I don’t want her name in his mouth.
“Graham’s never had a girlfriend before. He doesn’t know how to treat a lady.”
“So I’ve heard. Your brother’s been giving me all the dirty details about your life.” Dani wrinkles her nose at me.
“Stepbrother,” I hiss out.
“Graham,” Frank snaps. “All of you are siblings.”
I glare at him, letting the darkness—my father—rise up in my eyes. Frank doesn’t back down. But he looks a little wary. Good enough. I’ll take it.
“Dani’s always bringing me food,” Kraig tells me, needling me.
He’d better be careful. I’m happy to let the monster out.
“Now that I know you and Graham are brothers, I’ll make sure to bring your favorites.” Dani smiles at him.
“Can I make a special request? Those pecan marshmallow cookies you made last week? Divine.”
Dani had never made me cookies—even though I don’t like cookies, I’m still pissed she never made me any—but now she’s running a bakery for fucking Kraig?
Kraig gives me a smug look. “They’re better than sex.” He winks at Dani.
She giggles.
I feel something break in me.
I realize: It’s him. Kraig is work crush.
I’m going to fucking kill my stepbrother.