Chapter 20
Twenty
Madison
“You sent your neighbor a sex toy?” Piper whispers it, which somehow makes it sound louder.
“Jesus, shut up,” I hiss, whipping my head toward the living room.
Mom is humming to herself, completely oblivious to our conversation. It smells like cinnamon from the crumble in the oven, which means it’s a good day.
Rowan, perched on the kitchen counter, pops a grape into her mouth and says, “You are so weird, sis.”
“I didn’t send it to him,” I mutter. “It was an accident. The address autofilled.”
“You autofilled a vibrating rose to your hot neighbor?” Piper arches a brow.
“You’re getting it wrong on purpose.”
“Oh no,” she says, straight-faced. “I understand. I just want you to feel ashamed.”
Rowan snorts. “Mission accomplished.”
Before I can throw a tea towel at either of them, Noah walks in and snatches a grape right out of Rowan’s hand.
“What are we whispering about?” he asks, chewing slowly.
Rowan kicks him in the ass. He nudges her with his elbow. The sibling circle of violence continues.
“Don’t you dare,” I warn my sisters, pointing. “Not a word.”
Piper holds her hands up. “I can’t even say it. I’m traumatized for you.”
“She sent her neighbor a sex toy,” Rowan says casually.
“Rowan!” I shriek. “What the fuck?”
Noah’s eyes go wide. “The neighbor who thuds?”
“Oh my God.” I throw my head back and pray for a sinkhole.
He shrugs, completely unfazed. “What kind of sex toy?”
“Seriously?” I glare at him.
“What? I’m not a fucking virgin. And I grew up with three sisters. I’ve heard worse.”
Piper narrows her eyes. “You’re a psychologist. Don’t you have boring sex?”
“Why would I have boring sex?” he fires back.
“I don’t know, because you want to get all into their minds first?”
Rowan picks up a grape and flings it at Piper. “He probably makes them do a worksheet first.”
“Establish a trust circle,” Piper deadpans. “Light a scented candle.”
Noah points a finger at Rowan. “I’m starting to remember why you’re never invited anywhere.”
“I am invited,” she says, wounded. “I just don’t go.”
“Clearly made an exception today,” I grumble. “Why?”
Rowan shrugs. “I sensed your shame from my house. It was strong. I followed the scent.”
“That was the crumble,” Piper says.
Mom, with her super hearing, shouts from the living room, “It’ll be five more minutes.”
“Thanks, Mom,” we chorus like the functional adult children we pretend to be.
“You’re lucky Griffin isn’t here,” Rowan says. “He’d never let this go.”
Piper stiffens. “Why would Griffin care?”
Noah smirks. “Because he’s moving back next month, and this is exactly the kind of thing he missed.”
“Griffin’s moving back?” Piper asks too quickly.
Rowan grins. “What? Worried your teenage diary might resurface?”
I can’t help but smile. Griffin is Noah’s best friend and practically grew up in this house after his parents died. His grandmother did her best, but she was getting on in years and wasn’t in the best of health.
Dad fixed things in their house more times than I can count, and Mom sent dinners down when his grandmother’s arthritis got bad. Somewhere along the way, he just stuck.
He’s the same age as Noah, but he was always steadier than any of the boys who orbited our house growing up.
The kind of kid who rebuilt engines in his spare time and then helped Rowan with her math homework without making her feel stupid.
He left five years ago for a job out of state.
He’s only returned a handful of times since.
Piper had a crush on him once. She used to sit on the back steps when he’d come over, pretending she just happened to be outside. He never noticed. Or if he did, he was too kind to say anything.
Which explains how she just asked that question as if she had swallowed it wrong.
I wish we could talk about Griffin more. It would stop them from diving headfirst into my embarrassment. Instead, Noah levels me with a smirk. “Be careful with that rose toy if you’re having noise issues.”
I pause.
He doesn’t.
“They’re incredibly loud.”
Three mouths drop open.
“Noah!”
He holds up his hands. “Again. Not a virgin.”
Rowan pokes him in the side. “Do you have one?”
“No,” he says, far too smoothly. “But I’ve known people who’ve used them.”
Piper makes a face. “You mean your ex. Didn’t she leave you for a yoga instructor?”
“God,” I scoff. “Was his name Sage?”
Noah blinks. “He was a pilates instructor.”
I press my forehead against the cold counter.
Rowan throws an arm around me, her voice full of mock sympathy. “Don’t worry. If you die from embarrassment, we’ll turn the rose into a memorial.”
“Put it on your headstone,” Piper adds. “She came. She saw. She sent it to the wrong address.”
Noah grins. “RIP Madison Rose.”
I’m going to kill them.
And then I’m going to return that damn rose.
A throat clears behind us.
“Who sent what to the wrong address?” Dad asks from the doorway, his arms folded across his chest.
Rowan, the traitor, opens her mouth and starts talking. “Madison sent her neighbor—”
Piper lunges across the kitchen island and clamps a hand over Rowan’s mouth.
“Flowers!” Noah shouts over them, stepping forward.
Dad narrows his eyes. “Treadmill guy?”
I finish my death glare at Rowan and turn to him, plastering on the face I use for client meetings and family interrogations. “Yep.”
He nods, walks over, and presses a kiss to my forehead. “Proud of you, baby girl.”
My brows pinch. “For what?”
“For being the bigger person. Letting that guy see he’s getting to you would just… get him off.”
There’s a beat, and then the entire room explodes.
“Oh my God, Dad,” Piper chokes, doubled over, her hand still half-covering Rowan’s face.
Noah leans against the fridge. “What the fuck.”
Rowan looks impressed. “Did you mean to make that joke?”
Dad glances around like we’ve all lost it. “What? I’m just saying, don’t give him the satisfaction. Orgasms aside.”
Piper nearly dies.
“You kids could never whisper for shit,” he tells us.
I look up at the ceiling.
Whatever entity is on the other side, please take me away.
Rowan starts slow-clapping. “Wow. That’s incredible. Did Mom hear that? Someone tell Mom.”
“Don’t you dare,” I warn.
Dad shrugs, already retreating through the doorway. “My children are strange.” We hear him cross the living room, then pause. “Our children are strange,” he says fondly to Mom.
“I know they are, honey,” Mom replies, her voice soft.
Her hand is in his hair. There’s a dish towel on her shoulder, a crumble in the oven, and that clear look in her eyes I wish I could bottle.
It doesn’t help the rock in my chest.
There are only so many good days, but we got one today.
I’ll take it.
The kitchen settles into a hush, like the energy’s shifted and we all felt it.
Piper slides onto one of the barstools, kicking her feet lightly against the legs. “She looks good today.”
Rowan nods. “Really good.”
Noah catches my eye, and for a second, we share the same unspoken truth about how fragile this is.
“She had enough energy to make crumble,” I add, trying to keep the moment light. “That’s usually a sign.”
Noah drapes an arm around Rowan’s shoulders as she hops off the counter. “She’s doing well,” he says again, firmer this time. “Let’s not waste the day.”
I nod, feeling the knot in my chest loosen.
Mom shuffles into the kitchen with a list of orders for us to grab plates and set the table.
When dinner is finished and we can hardly move from eating so much, we gather in the living room while Mom plates dessert. She hands each of us a bowl with a kiss, just as she did when we were kids.
Dad has his arm around her, and the TV is playing an old movie in the background.
Rowan starts eating off Noah’s plate when he isn’t looking.
Piper rolls her eyes, muttering, “You’re both children.”
I settle onto the edge of the couch with my legs tucked beneath me. I look over at my mom and catch her looking back at me.
She smiles.
So I do too.
One good day.
We’ll take it.