Chapter 23 #2
Just as I relaxed, thinking no one would ask me anything about the horror show that had gone down in the Woodville School Hall yesterday, Hannah had to shoot her mouth.
“How did your pitch go yesterday, Mike?”
I darted a quick look at my dad and saw his lips rolled inward in an expression of sympathy. He’d known when I hadn’t come to the café yesterday that my pitch hadn’t gone well, but Kevin Holliday wasn’t the kind of guy to press a man for details of his humiliation in front of an audience.
But you couldn’t expect that kind of tact from cousins.
Not my cousins, anyway.
I shrugged, trying to look unbothered. “Crashed and burned. No survivors.”
“What?” Tessa put down her fork. “ Why ? Your pitch was excellent! Your slides were perfect, and your numbers were airtight. I reviewed everything myself.”
“Why didn’t you say something sooner?” Caroline demanded.
“I’m sorry, Mikey,” Dad said. His tone wasn’t heavy, but the weight of my unfulfilled potential sure was.
Chase wasn’t saying anything, which was wise, but there was a really fucking annoying look of sympathy on his face. If he tried to express it, I’d flip a table. For real. I didn’t need his pity.
Lyssa, thrusting her chin in the air said, “Some people don’t know a good idea when it’s staring them in the face. The Trust made a bad decision, Mike. That’s their folly, not yours.”
One corner of my mouth twists. “Yeah, mine was calling Oz a bull’s dick.”
At that, Caroline groaned and put her head in her hands. Still, no one changed the subject. They were all waiting for me to give them a full postmortem, regardless of whether I wanted to expose my innards.
Looking at their expectant faces, I didn’t really have a choice.
“I told Oz Wylie he was a villainous pigeon turd.” After another forkful of peas, I confessed the rest. “And a crusty-faced goon. Also, a bull’s pizzle—that means cow’s dick. In case you didn’t know.”
Tessa sighed loudly. Dean’s lips were pressed together, his expression unbearably sympathetic. I couldn’t bring myself to look at Dad.
“It’s a bit of a mash-up,” Lyssa told the table. “?‘I am pigeon-liveredandlackgall’ is from Hamlet . ‘Cream-faced loon’ is from Macbeth . ‘Bull’s pizzle’ is from a completely different play, that’s a Henry ; I forget which one. But I like your version, Mike.”
“Thanks, girl.”
Caroline’s eyes were narrowed. “Why did you say all that, Mike? What did Oz do?”
“He exploited the Shailor-Chapmans’ bigotry and lost my majority.”
“ Monica Shailor-Chapman? That… Bette Davis .”
“What Caroline means,” Hannah explained for Dean’s benefit, “is that Monica Shailor-Chapman is a bitch. Her husband is a bitch, and Oz Wylie is the biggest bitch of all.”
“Yes! Facts!” Lyssa snapped her fingers over her head and jerked her forearm toward the ceiling.
She was a very good cheerleader, even without the outfit. Her impassioned defense made me feel all gooey.
“What are you going to do now, Mikey?” my dad asked. “You still need an investor for your hobby farm.”
I shrugged. “Sell my body?”
“To science?” Tessa asked politely. “Or the streets?”
“No offense, Mike,” my sister said, which meant she was about to annihilate me, “but you don’t have the skill for either.”
I had a comeback, but Dad cut us off. “Caroline, Mike. No bickering at the table. Eat your carrots.”
Dean and Chase shared a meaningful look, universal to in-laws at a family dinner.
Lyssa craned her neck, trying to catch Dean’s or Chase’s eye to share this moment with them too, wanting to be included in the experience.
Seeing this, my gut clenched. She was desperate for a sense of belonging, and god help her, she wanted that with the Hollidays.
Without thinking twice about it, I picked up her hand and kissed the backs of her fingers.
Everyone saw.
It was as good as hiring a skywriter.
Dean shook his head at me, the half twist of his mouth saying loudly and clearly: You dirty dog, Mike Holliday.
Dad looked pleased, which was nice.
Hannah was looking back and forth between us, her jaw slack. Tessa was studying her phone under the table, because she truly couldn’t care less whose hands I kissed.
But Caroline pushed her chair back from the table with a loud scraping sound. “Mike, will you help me with the dessert?”
It was not a request.
Dad had barely finished his chicken, and Tessa had been drinking more than eating—her plate was only missing carrots—but I knew Caroline didn’t really need help with the apple pie.
I followed her into the kitchen, hands in my pockets. Caroline smiled widely at everyone sitting at the table, before sliding shut the accordion door that covered the cutout between the till and the kitchen. Then she rounded on me, her smile gone.
“What the Fred Astaire are you playing at, Mike?”
I shrugged, because what was there to say? I’d made things clear as day.
Sounds of chatter continued behind the screen, and Caroline stepped closer to me.
She was trying to be intimidating, but it was a wasted effort considering she barely came up to my shoulder.
The shrimp hadn’t grown since she was about fourteen—at least, not height wise.
Her ego, on the other hand, grew and grew, like James’s giant peach.
My sister truly thought that it was up to her what Lyssa did.
Or, more relevantly today, who . Or whomest .
Her pointy finger circled the air in front of my face.
“Go away, Shrimp.”
“Are you fucking Lyssa?” she demanded.
I could have lied. Instead, I grinned.
“What the fuck, Mike?” Caroline was really annoyed if she was saying real swears. Part of me was proud of this achievement.
“What happened to her being ‘ too much banana for one milkshake’ ?” Caroline demanded, her imitation of me offensively dude-bro-ish.
“Who told you I said that?”
“Lyssa. And it shows how much of an ignoramus you are. Lyssa is wonderful. Her heart is massive and she’s funny and interesting?—”
“I know.”
“And yes, she’s bananas, but in the best way.” My sister was getting louder. “Banana cake, banana pie, banana smoothie—all of those things are great. And if you hurt my bestie, I will make mashed banana out of your testicles. Do you understand me?”
“Chill out, Caroline.” I almost told her that Lyssa liked my testicles the way they were, but the shrimp was shouty enough already.
“You were supposed to give her a room and show her the sights!” Caroline jabbed one of her pink talons in my chest. “Not show her your dick! What’s wrong with you?”
“Lyssa is a grown woman”—and then because I knew it would annoy her, I added—“and what she does with her body is her choice. Haven’t you heard that phrase before, Caroline? Her body, her choice? Haven’t you written it on a card and marched around with it?”
“You are the worst ,” my sister hissed.
“So it’s only her choice when the choice isn’t your brother, huh?”
“Stop being a dick.”
“Um, Mike? Caroline?” Hannah called from behind the screen. “Do you know we can still hear you?”
“Does anyone want another drink?” Chase asked loudly, as transparent as his glasses in trying to change the subject.
I nudged Caroline’s shoulder. “See, Shrimp? You’re being rude.”
Then I pushed back through the swinging door and took my seat, all nonchalant.
Caroline followed five minutes later with another bottle of wine for Tessa and orange juice for her and my Dad.
She glared at me as she poured, but the heat had gone out of it, so I knew she’d come around.
Caroline loved Lyssa, and even though she hated to show it, she loved me too.
Her shock at discovering her brother and her best friend were banging was understandable.
In time, she’d probably be stoked.
So, while my career was in the toilet, everything else was all starting to look up.
After dinner, Tessa and Hannah cleared the plates, good-naturedly competing to get Dad to call them the favorite cousin. Everyone else excused themselves to fill in fifteen minutes before Caroline was ready to serve up what would likely be an inedible attempt at apple pie.
Lyss and I went outside to sit in the courtyard.
I thought I’d show her the lights I’d strung up there last summer, which were at their best now in the late evening, so she could compliment me on them.
Also, it was dark enough out here that I could sit on one of the picnic benches and pull her into my lap.
“Mike!” she squealed when I did exactly that. “Your family will see!”
“Let them.” I pressed a kiss to her neck.
Her breathing hitched.
“They’ll hear,” she tried again.
“Be quiet then.” I dug my fingers in her hair and angled her so I could kiss her, enjoying the way her body went soft as she welcomed my tongue. I cupped her ass as she pressed closer to me, and she moaned.
“That’s not quiet, Princess.”
She scowled. “You’re playing dirty.”
“You love it.”
She did. She wiggled closer and wrapped her arms around my neck, suffocating me with her mouth, her tits, the sweet press of her.
I was fucking obsessed with this girl and done pretending I wasn’t.
Let the people gawk. I was happy.
When her pocket started vibrating, I genuinely thought it was her.
Lyssa had been all breathless in my arms, and I knew she was getting turned on despite her insistence this was a wholesome family dinner and we could only do wholesome family things—which, fuck that by the way.
Now that my family knew about us, we should be kissing whenever the fuck the opportunity presented itself.
But it was her phone.
She pushed her hand down between our bodies to fish it out—ignoring my grumble because I thought she was reaching for something else.
She froze when she saw the screen.
“Who is it?”
She pushed off my lap, tugging her skirt back into place. “I have to take this.”
“Take it then.”
“Where can I go?”
“Go?” It took three more vibrations of her phone for me to work out that she meant she didn’t want to answer the call in front of me.
“The bathrooms, I guess? Or the parking lot?”