“Fair,” Andi says, and bends over to look at the iPad, bringing her cheek close to mine. “Hey, guys.”
“Morning,” I murmur, trying valiantly, desperately to stop thinking.
“Good morning,” Reid says, and when I finally glance back at the screen, he’s wearing a delighted, half-grinning, half-eyebrows-raised expression that makes me instantly wary. I can’t get any redder, but I can feel more embarrassed, it turns out. “I was just telling Gideon the latest developments in our family soap opera.”
“Don’t worry about it,” I tell her, something tightening in my chest. “It’s nothing, it’s stupid, it’s boring—”
“I’ll get more coffee,” Andi says, and her hand drifts across the back of my neck as she walks away. This makes twice now, this morning, that she’s just touched me out of nowhere. Maybe if it happens a third time it won’t send my whole brain offline.
“Gideon?” Reid is asking, still grinning like a shithead. I clear my throat and frown, because that’s what I do, right?
“I should go, actually,” I tell Reid, and it’s got nothing to do with getting off the phone before Andi comes back. “Unless you have questions about any of the animals—”
As if summoned, there’s a mrrrrrr sound and Dolly’s enormous head appears in front of the camera. Imperiously, she scans the room, then appears to zero in on Reid, who looks wary and takes another sip of coffee.
“She wants you to pet her,” I say.
“I think it’s a trap.”
“She’s a cat.”
“She’s a cat who’s tempting me into petting her so she can tear my hand off and… sacrifice it to the old gods, or something.”
“Your hand would be a terrible sacrifice.”
“My hand would be a great sacrifice.”
“MRRAAAAAAAH,” says Dolly, and Reid makes another face.
Slowly, he reaches out a hand and rubs it gently across the top of her head. I can hear her purr even through the spotty connection. Andi comes back with her own chipped mug, drags over a chair, and sits with one foot tucked under the other, her knee touching my thigh. When I can think again, I slowly put my hand on it, and she gives me a small, secret smile.
“So, what’s the soap opera?” she asks Reid, who’s currently frowning and scratching Dolly under her chin. One of them is having a very good time right now.
“It’s complicated and really not interesting,” I say. “Just drama.”
“My sisters Sadie and Beth are fighting because Sadie’s getting laid,” Reid says. Andi glances at me with one eyebrow raised. Does my face get hotter? Maybe.
“And Beth’s not?”
“Beth’s got three kids,” I tell Andi.
“That doesn’t mean she’s getting laid, it means she’s been laid a minimum of three times,” Reid points out as Dolly leans into him.
“But it’s a problem that Sadie’s getting laid,” Andi says, glancing over at me again. “Isn’t she…”
“Twenty-five? Yes,” I say, and push my fingers through my hair, mortified that this is why my whole family is fighting right now, because what kind of people care if an adult woman has sex? “But our parents thought she was still… devout,” I say.
“Sadie swore up and down that she was waiting for marriage, even though she wasn’t,” says Reid. “And for some reason, they believed her, and meanwhile Beth really did keep it under wraps until the wedding night, and thought that at least one of her sisters would turn out okay, so she feels betrayed. And probably mad that Sadie’s having a way more fun life than she is.”
“I see,” Andi says, and I don’t really think she does—this is the kind of shit that goes down deep and back years—but I appreciate the effort.“Meanwhile, Ariel is on the warpath on Sadie’s behalf, Zach, Matt, and Jacob are half shocked and half getting blamed that they didn’t, I don’t know, guard their sister’s honor, and Hannah is trying to smooth everything over because she’s the middle child,” Reid says.
“Most of you are middle children,” Andi points out. “You’re a middle child.”
“She’s the middlest,” Reid says, as Dolly flops over in his lap. His hand pauses a minute, then very cautiously continues petting. “She’s so middle our parents don’t even know she has a girlfriend.”
Andi makes a neutral noise and drinks more coffee.
“Which you can’t tell them,” Reid blurts out, suddenly looking a little panicked that he might have told the wrong semi-secret to the wrong person; most of my siblings have something they’re hiding from each other and/or my parents, and in a family of fourteen remembering who’s allowed to know what can get tricky.
“I definitely won’t,” Andi says. “I promise.” She doesn’t have to say if I ever talk to them again it’ll be too soon.
“I can draw you a family tree later,” I offer, just to change the subject a little.
“And of course, everyone wants Gideon on their side because he’s the Sweden of the family,” Reid finishes, and Andi looks at me in slight confusion.
“Switzerland,” I say to Reid. “Sweden’s the one with fjords, Switzerland is the neutral one with banking.”
“I always fuck that up,” he mutters.
“And I’m on Sadie’s side, obviously,” I reassure them both. “Though I wish she hadn’t faked it quite so hard.”
“Really? You wish she’d been more honest?” Reid says, bitterness leaking through into his voice.
“There’s lying and then there’s lying,” I say. “She’s the one who kept the purity ring on and went to church with them.”
Reid looks down and pets Dolly without responding.
“I haven’t been to church in years. I’m not faking anything,” I tell him, ignoring the same tug of guilt I feel every time we talk about this.
He’s quiet for a long moment, concentrating very hard on giving Dolly ear scratches.
“Right. Sorry. Never mind,” he finally says without looking up, and I bite back the next ten things I want to say.
“How are the outdoor animals?” I ask instead. He gives me a look.
“Fine,” he says. “Appreciative of heating pads.”
I sigh and accept this.
“Hey,” Andi shouts, hours later, her voice half-swallowed by the snow and the trees and the sky. “What do feral hog tracks look like?”
“Same as regular hog tracks,” I call back, giving a knot one last tug.
“You can’t possibly think that was a helpful response.”
I walk over to where she’s squatting, boots crunching through the snow. It’s in the forties today, at least ten degrees above freezing, so the snow is crunchy and sticky, the whole forest dripping.
“Like an oval with a sharp notch in the front,” I say as I crouch next to her and look down at the snow. “Yup. That’s a big ‘un.”
“How big?”
I shrug. “Real big?”
“Why do you sound so southern all of a sudden?”