“It was really great to meet you. Anytime you want to help me drive this guy to drink, just call me.” She surprises me by pulling me into a hug and I hug her back, meeting Luke’s eyes over her shoulder.
“It’s becoming my new favorite pastime,” I tell her. “Maybe we can start a club.”
Chapter TEN
Luke
“NO THANK YOU,” Grams says as Mom carries the serving dish to where she sits. “No asparagus for me, Julie. Those white ones make me feel like I’m eating tiny penises.”
Dad chokes on a sip of wine and Margot’s eyes shoot up to the ceiling while she struggles to keep from laughing.
Our dining room is bright and expansive, with thick cream wallpaper and a large chandelier hanging over a hand-carved cherry table. The décor is way too nice for the kinds of conversations that go down in here when my grandmother is around.
I smile adoringly at my grandmother. “You’re a poet, Grams.”
“Mom,” Dad says in warning, and then looks at me. “Don’t encourage her.”
“What?” Her milky blue eyes widen innocently at him across the table. “Have you looked at them, Bill? It’s been forever since I changed your diaper or wiped your butt, so I’m not suggesting it looks like your—”
“Can you pass the bread?” Margot interrupts.
Grams picks up the bread bowl with a shaky hand and passes it to my sister. “Honestly.” She shakes her head. “Penises are the strangest-looking organ. If being a lesbian had been an option in my day, I would have definitely gone that direction.” She waves a hand. “Not that I didn’t love cleaning up after my feral children and cooking for your father for fifty years.”
“Oh boy,” Margot mumbles.
“Female bodies are so much more pleasant,” Grams muses. “With the breasts and legs and whatnot.”
I laugh into my water glass.
“You should laugh,” Grams says, pointing a delicate, withered finger at me. “You love your penis more than anything in the world.”
I raise my brows as if to say, Well, you’re not wrong, but Mom lets out a tiny squeak. “Anne,” she says quietly, “Luke doesn’t . . .”
The sentence hangs there and the silence bounces around between us.
“Doesn’t what?” Grams asks into the abyss. “Love his penis? Don’t be thick. Margot tells me Luke hasn’t had a girlfriend in years, but look at that smile.” She points at me again. “No boy his age smiles like that without a lot of willing ladies around, if you catch my meaning.”
“She has a point,” I say.
“Luke Graham Sutter,” Mom whisper-hisses. “Honestly.”
“There may be a change happening,” Margot says, and then slides a stalk of asparagus between her teeth, biting down savagely. I wince. Chewing, she says, “Remember that text I sent you the other day? Luke has a crush on a girl.”
Time stops. Forks go silent. Jaws drop open and dust settles.
“Jesus Christ,” I groan, stabbing a bite of chicken.
“Watch your mouth, son,” Dad says under his breath.
I glare at my sister. “You’re on a tear lately, Margot. Are you trying to push me out of this state?”
“Well, what do I have to lose?” she asks. “You’re running out of willing sexual partners in Southern California. Unless you just cycle through them again and forget their na—”
I cut her off with a low “Margot.”
“Luker?” Mom asks me, ignoring this. “You have a girlfriend?”
“No,” Margot answers for me. “There’s a girl who refuses him, but he loooooves her.”
“Are you twelve?” I ask.
My sister winks at me.
“Bubbles?” Mom addresses me again and the delicate hope in her voice makes something between my ribs grow tight.
“You guys,” I say, putting down my fork. “Can we all agree it isn’t healthy that you’re all so invested in me settling down? I’m twenty-three. I graduated last summer.”
“You were just so happy with Mia,” Dad explains.
“Of course he was happy!” Grams crows. “He was seventeen and having premarital sex!” She cackles and slaps the table loudly.
“Mom,” Dad says more forcefully this time. “This isn’t helping.”
“Can we just stop talking about my love life for once?” I ask.
“We,” Margot says, gesturing around the table, “have literally never talked about your love life.” When I don’t argue, she continues: “At least not with you in the room. I just thought everyone might want to know that you’ve got your eye on someone. And, given that you’ve lost your sea legs, so to speak, maybe you could use some advice. After all, Mom and Dad have been married for twenty-seven years. And Grams was married to Papa for fifty.”
“Fifty-two,” Grams corrects her.
“See?” Margot says, smiling at me victoriously. “Fifty-two. I’m sure they would love to give you some pointers.”
Mom’s hopeful smile is back in place. “You want some advice, Bubbles?”
I smile at my sister through clenched teeth and nod. “Sure, Mom.”
Dad pats his napkin against his mouth and sets it down beside his plate before leaning back in his chair and studying me. Oh boy.
“Be straightforward,” he says, lacing his hands behind his head.
“Straightforward,” Mom agrees with a decisive nod.