“You know.” She waves her hand. “Twitter.”
“Grandma, you’re on Twitter?” Brian looks so startled that I wonder suddenly what kind of shit he’s been posting on Twitter. Something he doesn’t want his grandma to see, clearly.
“You’re a good writer,” Janice says. “I read some of your pieces in the Atlantic and Vanity Fair.”
“Thank you,” he says.
“Lucy, didn’t you want to be a writer once?” Keith peers at me as if I’ve disappointed him, this relative I barely know. “What ever happened to that?”
I wasn’t that good, I guess, is what I should have said. People love that sort of shit—humility and honesty, tied together to make everyone feel more comfortable after a rude question.
I smile. “Well, you know. No one wants to read a book from a murderer.”
Keith reddens. Dad rolls his eyes.
“Lucy,” Mom says wearily.
“Why didn’t you ever write a memoir?” Ashley’s clearly been waiting all night to ask that question.
“Bit hard to write a memoir about something you don’t remember.”
“You could write about everything else.”
I shrug.
“Let’s kill—”
“You never tell your side of the story,” Ashley presses.
I’ve told it more times than I can count. No one believed me.
“I’m telling it to Ben.” I take a sip of my wine.
Dad’s head pops up. His eyes spark with anger and questions.
“You’re telling it to Ben?” Mom says the words so slowly. Perhaps they’re even interpreted as calm by the rest of the table.
Maybe they are calm. I take a quick glance around and no one else seems nervous.
I shouldn’t be nervous. I’m a grown-ass woman free to give interviews to whichever smug podcaster I choose.
“I have an idea. Let’s kill—”
I clench my fingers into a fist and will the voice away. “Yeah. I’m doing an interview with Ben soon.”
“We already talked about a few things,” Ben adds.
“That’s an interesting decision, Lucy,” Dad says.
Ashley snort-laughs and then claps a hand over her mouth. Others giggle nervously as well.
“Everyone has extremely high expectations of Ben.” I’m trying to sound casual. “Just trying to help where I can.”
“I appreciate it.” Ben is also trying to sound casual. I’m better at it.
Dad opens his mouth like he has more to ask, then seems to think better of it.
“It seems like Lucy should tell her own story instead of me telling it for her, wouldn’t you say?” Ben asks.
“That’s true,” Ashley says with wide-eyed sincerity.
“What a load of shit.”
The voice in my head is so loud that I barely stop myself from jumping.
“Let’s kill her.”
I eye my knife, but I’m too buzzed to kill Ashley. For real or otherwise.
“Or him?”
I shift in my chair. The conversation has moved on without me, and Mom is staring at me.
“Right?” she says.
“What?”
“I have an idea!”
“The truth,” Mom says. “That’s all any of us have ever wanted. To just find out the truth.”
“Yes.” I nod. “The truth.”
I take a long sip of my wine, which I should not do, but I want to quiet the voice. It works.
“And the truth involves digging up people’s personal lives?” Keith’s face is even redder. Anger and alcohol coming together to make one very crimson man.
“Keith,” Janice says quietly, putting a hand on his arm.
He shakes her off. “I’m sorry, but why are we all acting like this man is welcome here? He—”
“You’re very welcome, Ben,” Grandma interrupts, patting his arm.
He looks at her in amusement.
“Mom!” Keith throws his hands up. “For god’s sake. He went on that podcast and he said that—”
“Keith,” Mom snaps.
“—Kathleen slept with a twenty-year-old in a car!”
“Wow,” Ashley says.
“Oh my god.” Brian actually puts down his phone.
“Dammit, Keith,” Dad says.
“What? It’s not even true!” Keith points a furious finger at Ben. “You just get on that little podcast of yours with your fake news, and you spout these accusations from ‘anonymous sources.’” He does finger quotes around anonymous sources.
“Maybe it’s time for the pie?” Mom asks.
Keith ignores her, his attention locked on Ben. “Who are these sources?”
“I’m sorry, I can’t reveal that.”
“Or presents?” Mom suggests.
“Of course you can’t! Because they don’t exist!”
“Or more wine?” Grandma suggests, holding up her glass. A waiter scurries over to refill it.
Betsy leans across the table. “Maybe I should go,” she whispers.
“Are you kidding? Things are just getting good!” Grandma exclaims gleefully.
Keith has both hands on the table, ready to fight. “And you implied that she and that boy—”
“Colin,” I supply.
“Wow,” Ashley says.
“—that Colin boy killed Savannah! We all know who did it—”
I raise my hand. Betsy’s mouth drops open.
Grandma pulls my hand down. “Not the right crowd for that kind of joke, hon.”
“No offense, Lucy,” Keith says.
“Really, Dad?” Brian asks.
“But we all know who did it, and you’re throwing around lies and telling people Kathleen killed her!”
“I’m just trying to get a handle on everyone’s alibis.” Ben seems remarkably unrattled.
In fact, his lips are twitching. The smug bastard might be enjoying this.
“That is not—”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” Mom yells. Everyone freezes. “Yes, I had sex with Colin in my car the night of the wedding! Are you happy, Ben? You got me! I slept with the twenty-year-old, and to be honest, I enjoyed it.”
“Wow.”
“So that’s where I was when Savvy was murdered,” Mom finishes calmly. She smooths a hand over her perfectly coiffed hair, and it barely moves. “He’s my alibi.”
Uncle Keith gapes at his sister like he just realized she knows how to have sex. Dad lets out a long-suffering sigh.
“Oh, give it a rest, Don,” Mom says. “Like you have any room to talk.”
I try so hard not to laugh, but a snort-giggle escapes my lips.
Neither of my parents has ever been all that discreet about their affairs. Dad used to leave his laptop open on the kitchen table and walk away while it dinged with messages, until Mom would scream for him to come answer his girlfriend. Mom, I’m pretty sure, only started sleeping around to get back at Dad, but it sounds like she’s enjoying the hell out of herself now. Good for her, I guess.
I’ll never understand why they’re still married. I thought for sure that they were just waiting for me to move out before they split, but it’s been over a decade since I left for college. I guess they’ve decided that tormenting each other for the rest of their lives is preferable to divorce.
Grandma puts down her wineglass and reaches across the table for Mom’s hand. “Kathleen, I just want you to know that I mean this sincerely—I’m deeply proud.”
* * *
We eat pie in near silence. Grandma’s friends try to liven things up again while she’s opening presents, but we’re all still stuck on “I had sex with Colin in my car.”
Everyone scurries out as soon as they can, and I help Grandma into a sleek black car that has shown up to whisk her away. It’s another mystery man, this one at least ten years younger than she is. His fancy car smells too strongly of cologne, but his smile is friendly as he nods at me.
Grandma pats my cheeks as she settles into the front seat.
“I told you I’d ruin your birthday,” I say.
“My dear, you made it the best birthday ever.”
I shake my head in amusement and close the door. She waves as they drive away.
I trudge back into the restaurant. It’s nearly empty, the waitstaff clumped together around the hostess stand. They abruptly stop talking as I walk by.
I head to the back room to grab Mom’s mason jars and the rest of the cake. I hear murmured voices as I approach, and I slow as I reach the door.
Dad stands near the end of the table with Ben, his arms crossed over his chest. Smoke from a recently extinguished candle billows up next to them. I stand back, out of view, absolutely shameless about eavesdropping.