He frowns, shooting me narrowed side-eye. “Whose side are you on?”
There are sides? “Um, no one’s?”
He turns his body away from me.
“Oh my god.” True laughs. “Could you be any more immature?”
He one hundred percent could—but their mother doesn’t allow it.
She shoots the entire table a warning look, crossing her arms and resting them on the table. “So, you went and had fish pedicures—what else did you go do?”
“And don’t say banged,” True adds nonchalantly, earning a gasp from Mrs. Wallace.
“Really, True? Can none of you behave for five minutes? Is it so much to ask? You’re all giving me a heart attack. My blood pressure is skyrocketing.” She feels for her pulse dramatically. “Roger, say something.”
He looks up from using his butter knife to push meat sauce across the plate and onto his fork. “Be nice to your mother.”
Mrs. Wallace frowns.
“We swam with stingrays,” my cousin says with a smile. “Buzz screamed like a girl when one rubbed up against his leg. Scared the daylights out of everyone in our group.”
Their sister makes a face. “You screamed like a girl swimming with giant pancakes, yet you let tiny fish eat the dead skin off your feet? You really are a complete dunce.”
“It was so loud.” Hollis chuckles at the memory.
Buzz looks affronted. “I’m sorry—have you ever swum with stingrays? They give you no warning, just rub their bodies up on you out of nowhere. And hello, that jungle guy Steve Irwin got stabbed in the heart by one and died—I could have died, that’s all I’m saying, and no one even cared.”
Hollis pats his cheek. “I cared, baby.”
“Did you at least get videos?” True asks.
“No, we couldn’t take our phones in the water, but we do have a picture of him kissing its fin.” She stabs some lettuce and pops it in her mouth. “He looks like he’s sucking on a Sour Patch Kid.”
Tripp snorts.
“What else?” Mrs. Wallace wants to know. “Tell us everything.”
“Not everything, wink-wink.” Buzz laughs. “If you catch my drift.”
“Mom said we’re not supposed to talk about sex at the table,” Tripp reminds him.
“I wasn’t going to, idiot. I was joking.”
“I swear to god, if I could find your leg under the table, I’d kick it,” Tripp tells his brother.
They scowl at each other.
Wow.
Just…wow.
I thought they all got along?
Our family isn’t like this—at all. We’re quiet and polite and suffocatingly…
Blah.
This exchange between them all is so entertaining I don’t realize I’m stuffing garlic bread into my mouth and giggling to myself until Tripp turns back toward me, eyes wide.
“Laugh it up, clown,” he says, looking me up and down, the doughy bread in my hand suspended mid-scarf.
I can’t get any words out, my mouth otherwise occupied with carby deliciousness, so I shrug. And giggle again.
“So, Chandler.” Mrs. Wallace turns her attention to me for the first time this evening. “How long have you been a black belt?”
Oh shit. That was a random question—fair, but random.
I take a drink from my water glass to wash down the bread lingering in my throat. Wipe my hands on the napkin placed in my lap.
“Since I was in high school, actually. I started karate when I was four.”
Everyone’s brows go up except my cousin’s.
Mrs. Wallace turns toward her. “Hollis, dear, do you know karate?”
She shakes her head. “Unfortunately not. My parents put me in ballet and tap dancing lessons—and one ill-fated baton twirling class when my dream was to be a twirler in the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade.”
“Do you still know how to twirl?” Buzz sounds interested.
“I do.”
“You gonna show me?”
Hollis nods.
“Babe, that is so sexy,” her husband says.
To my right, True makes a gagging sound. “Gross. Stop. No one wants to picture your wife wearing lingerie and twirling a baton for you.”
“Why would you say that?” Tripp groans. “I wasn’t thinking about her being in lingerie until you said it, asshole.”
“Don’t call your sister an asshole,” Roger chastises. “Especially at the dinner table. Have some damn class.”
I’ve gleaned—after only a short time with the Wallace family—that any effort on Roger’s part to discipline the kids earns him gold stars with Mrs. Wallace, because after his statement, she puts her hand on top of his and they share a…look. Like, the look.
They’re totally going to have sex later.
Dear lord.
This family really is crazy.
It goes on like this for at least another forty-five minutes: arguing, talking, laughing. More arguing. More storytelling. Argue, argue, story. Laughing. Arguing.
And so on and so forth, until,
“Dipshit, how are you getting home?”
I glance up from the piece of cheesecake in front of me with interest. Buzz is pointedly staring at his brother and Tripp is scratching the back of his scalp.
“I was going to Uber.”
What are they talking about?
“Is that how you got here to pick up my car?”
Ah—now it makes sense. I saw the black BMW sports car Tripp had borrowed parked in the driveway out front, which means he must have driven it here, but I didn’t notice the pickup truck I rode in after the wedding rehearsal.
“Yes.”
“And you plan on Ubering home? Instead of having someone drive you?” Buzz’s gaze quickly shoots to me and if I hadn’t been watching him speak, I would have missed the gesture completely.
“Yes. That was the plan.”
“That’s dumb—any one of us can drive you home.”
“Oh no dear, we’re not leaving until the morning,” their mother hastily tells the table, fake dismay upon her brow. She looks at her daughter. Then looks at me.
Then looks at True.
Then sighs as if her heart is heavy and there is little hope.
“Mom. It’s fine.” Tripp reaches over to grab a tart, jamming it into his mouth in one bite and chewing. He licks his fingers then reaches for another dessert.
“Unless…” Mrs. Wallace again. “Chandler, dear, where do you live?”
“Mom—no.” Tripp finally gives her the courtesy of his attention. “I can take a cab. It’s not a big deal.”
“Chandler doesn’t mind, do you, Chandler?”
Everyone in the room is watching me, and the moist cheesecake in my mouth suddenly goes dry—impossible to chew and even more impossible to swallow.
“Do I mind taking him home?” I dab at my mouth with the napkin. “Of course I don’t mind.”
Tripp knocks me with his knee beneath the table where no one can see.
“That’s a great idea! Since you’re both going the same direction.” Hollis grins widely, the matter having been settled.
“We’re not even close to being in the same direction,” Tripp grumbles. “I don’t want her driving twenty minutes out of the way because I was dumb enough to not arrange a ride.”