Everyone gets back to eating. Small talk. Then once again silence falls when the front door opens and closes. I look at James, James looks at Danny, Danny looks at Ringo, Ringo looks at Goldie, Goldie looks at Otto, like a Mexican wave of curious looks.
“He forgot his toothbrush,” Danny muses, picking up his wine and pointing his attention back at the entrance into the kitchen, ready to welcome Brad home, as everyone around the table chuckles lightly, as relieved as Danny that Brad’s pulled his head out of his ass long enough to realize that leaving was a bad idea, if only because he’s not at full strength at the moment.
I settle back in my chair and collect the wine Brad left at his place and sip around my smile. And nearly spit it out when someone—not Brad—walks into the kitchen, cool as can be, casual, even a fucking smile on his face. And all eyes follow him from the door to the seat that Brad just vacated. So close to me, I can smell him. Clean. Fresh.
Not dead.
“Hmmm, looks yum,” Nolan says, diving into the stew Brad left a moment ago as we all stare, mouths hanging open.
“What the fuck?” Danny eventually says, slowly lowering his wine to the table.
Nolan pauses, hunched over the table, just about to take another mouthful of stew, and looks up and down at the peanut gallery all looking like . . . well, like they’ve seen a fucking ghost. “What?” he asks, head swaying back and forth as gravy drips off his spoon. “What did I do?”
“What did you do?” Danny seethes, standing up from his chair slowly, his fists clenching. “What did you fucking do?”
Poor Nolan is as still as an ice sculpture, and probably feeling as cold too.
“You fucking died, you moron!”
“I did?” Nolan looks down his front, dismayed, as if checking he’s actually here. “When?”
“Fuck me,” James breathes next to me, rubbing at the lines on his forehead as Danny marches around the table and gets Nolan by his ear, literally, and drags him off out of the kitchen. Naturally, James is up in a beat.
“Not too much of that,” he says, tapping the rim of my wine glass, making me shrink in my chair. He leaves the kitchen, probably to make sure Danny doesn’t do the job he thought had been done—kill Nolan—and Otto, Ringo, and Goldie get up and follow.
“Just a regular family dinner,” Esther says wistfully, starting to clear some plates. “Ice cream anyone?”
“Would love some,” Rose says, going to the freezer and pulling out a huge tub, presenting it to the room. “Anyone else?”
“Please,” Pearl calls, starting to help Esther.
“Please,” Anya replies, polishing off her stew and sighing. “You are expert chef,” she says to Esther. “Like my mama.”
My bottom lip pushes out as I watch Anya smiling sadly. I’ve often felt alone, even though I’ve always had people around me. But to actually be alone? “You know,” Zinnea says. “I was going to call myself Anya. Anya Dolly Daydream.”
“Yes?” Anya replies, her eyes lighting up. “You know what it means? Anya?”
“Tell me,” Zinnea orders, getting her wine and flicking her hair over her shoulder.
“It means grace.”
“Oh?”
I laugh as Rose joins us back at the table with the tub of ice cream and a jar of something. “Zinnea suits you better.” She pops off the lid and starts digging into the tub. “And Anya definitely suits you,” she says, smiling at Anya. “And Pearl suits you. Unusual, like your ridiculously bright red hair.”
Pearl reaches for her hair, tucking it behind her ears. “I always hated having red hair and green eyes.”
“Why?” Rose blurts, outraged. “Oh my God, women would kill for that combination. Do you know how rare you are?”
Pearl smiles, and Rose falters in her enthusiasm. Rare. Which is exactly why she was probably taken. Like Anya, with her unique look - heart-shaped face, gold, almond-shaped eyes, thick brows, the fullest lips, and chestnut, poker-straight hair. Rare.
Not knowing what to say, Rose holds up the tub and they both nod. “I see it went well with Danny,” she says with a heavy dose of sarcasm, and Esther snorts.
“You were the one who told me to put him in his place.”
I catch Pearl and Anya looking curious, so I help them out and explain. This is something I can tell them. “Otto, that’s the big hairy one with piercings, he’s got a soft spot for Esther, who is Danny’s Mom.”
“And Danny’s Rose’s husband,” Pearl says.
“Correct.” Rose smiles across the table at her as she spoons ice cream into a few bowls. “And he’s not very happy about his mom”—she points the spoon to Esther—“dating . . . well, anyone. Especially not one of the men.”
“He’s a little protective,” Esther says, almost with a proud edge. She means it. Really, Danny couldn’t do much wrong in her books. Murder, kidnap, gunrunning. But fighting with Otto?
“What about Brad?” Pearl asks, making Rose, Esther, and me all freeze in our chairs.
“What about him?” I ask, looking at Rose, who’s looking at Pearl as curious about this as I am, as she passes a bowl across the table to her. Has this got anything to do with James’s text asking about Pearl?
She picks up her spoon and starts stirring, all casual. “I just wondered if he’s . . . taken.” She quickly pops some ice cream in her mouth and smiles through pursed lips.
Oh dear.
“Yes,” Rose blurts.
“No,” I say at the same time.
“I think what the girls are trying to say,” Esther says gently, “is that Brad’s probably . . . umm, I think he’s . . .” She looks to me for help. I have nothing.
“He’s a total dick,” Rose says, handing out the rest of the bowls. “You’ll hate him.”
Pearl smiles and Rose grabs the jar and proceeds to tip out the contents all over her ice cream.
“And he tells terrible jokes,” I say, frowning at Rose’s bowl.
“So, so bad,” Rose confirms.
I look at Esther. She’s also frowning at Rose’s bowl. And Zinnea. And Anya and Pearl. And Rose is oblivious, stirring her spoon through the ice cream, mixing the pickles in with it, humming happily before getting a big spoonful and opening wide, taking it all and closing her eyes in bliss. It’s fucking bliss.
“What the hell, Rose?”
Her eyes pop open and she swallows, looking down at her bowl. “I know!” she cries. “It’s so gross.” She grits her teeth, gripping the spoon in her fist. “I can’t stop it,” she grates, angry with herself and this new disgusting craving. “Yesterday, I sprinkled sugar on my Mexican food.” She drops her spoon and puts her head in her hands.
I see my phone at James’s place and collect it, laughing at her as I stand and walk to her end. “I still love you,” I say, rubbing her shoulder. “I’m going to see if they’ve killed Nolan yet.”
Her hands fall. “I want every detail,” she says.
Naturally, I think, leaving the kitchen. “Thanks for dinner.”
“You should be in here helping us clean up, not in the office with the men,” Esther calls, making me roll my eyes.