“No,” I lie.
I know full well how many twenty-year-old Broncos there are in Sprucevale.
One. There’s one.
“That’s not you leaving her house most mornings?” Seth adds.
I look my younger brother dead in the eyes this time, and double down.
“No,” I lie again.
I don’t have a plan. I know it’s not working, but total denial is all I’ve got right now.
Seth turns dramatically to Levi. They’re both enjoying the hell out of this. Fuckers.
“We got a problem,” Seth says, his voice dead serious.
“It’s the doppelgänger scenario,” Levi agrees.
He puts one hand on my shoulder.
“Eli,” he says. “Someone’s been impersonating you. For weeks, now.”
“Fuck off,” I say, resigned.
“It does make the most sense,” Seth concurs. “I can’t imagine Violet sleeping with this grumpy asshole. She’s such a nice girl.”
“Violet is not nice,” I say.
“Always been nice to me,” Levi says.
“Me too,” agrees Seth. “I also hear that she’s real nice to that doppelgänger you got.”
I open my mouth. No sound comes out. My face heats up.
I shut it.
“Did Daniel tell you?” I ask. “He swore —”
Seth grins and claps me on the shoulder.
“I love that you thought it was a secret,” he says. “Fifty people drive past your car in her driveway every night, and you know that nobody in this town can keep their mouth shut.”
“According to Clive, the two of you exchange morning greetings several times a week,” Levi adds in. “That’s her next door neighbor.”
They’re right, obviously. I don’t know how I thought I could keep this a secret in a town the size of Sprucevale, where everyone and their mothers know what kind of car everyone else drives.
“Fine,” I say. “We’ve hooked up a couple of times, it’s not a big deal.”
Seth and Levi look at each other, but mercifully, they don’t say anything.Chapter Thirty-OneVioletI’ve had too much to drink.
Or, more accurately, I’ve had more to drink than I probably should at a work function. But then again, the number of drinks one should have at a work function is zero, and that’s no fun.
It’s no fun at all. I, on the other hand, am lots of fun.
“Pivot tables,” Clarabelle Loveless is saying, gesturing with her whiskey glass. “I’m telling you, Violet, once you start using them you’re never going to look back.”
“That’s not the question,” I say, gesturing as well. “The question is, I’ve got all these brides who can only, you know, use SnapFace or GramChat or whatever on their phones to take selfies, how do I get them to use the pivot tables when they don’t even know what Excel is?”
“Everyone knows what Excel is,” Adeline objects, standing next to us out on the lawn. Dinner’s over — it was the first time I’d ever eaten filet mignon off a paper plate — and now everyone under the age of fourteen is sprinting around, screaming their heads off. It’s that kind of party.
“Don’t they?” she says. “Tell me they do.”
I take another sip. I don’t usually drink whiskey, but I don’t usually have this kind of week. I’ve earned it, and besides, my responsibilities here are over. I plan and execute, I don’t clean up.
I just shake my head at Adeline, who looks dismayed.
“Mrs. Loveless, I cannot let them near my data,” I say. “It would be chaos.”
She looks horrified.
“I told you already, it’s Clara,” Eli’s mom says. “And Lord no, child, you don’t let them use your spreadsheets. Just get the information from them and input it yourself. Don’t let other people touch your data.”
I just nod sagely. Of course not. How could I be so silly?
“You know what I’ve gotten really into lately?” I ask her. “Using conditional formatting to color cells. I figured out how to set it up so that the closer a date is, the darker it is, so it’s easy to see what’s the most urgent at a glance.”
“That would also make it very easy to see outliers in a data set at a glance,” Clara muses. “You know, that might be very useful for calibrating the — hello, who’s this?”
“ANKYLOSAURUS!” shouts Rusty, plowing into her grandmother’s knees.
“Goodness!” Clara exclaims, laughing.
“Ankylosaurus says come get ice cream,” Rusty says, grabbing Clara’s hand.
“All right, baby,” Clara says, then holds up her whiskey glass to Adeline and I. “We’ll talk more later. Sweetheart, I’m coming. Violet, you should come to Sunday dinner. Are you free tomorrow?”
“Sure,” I say, my mouth agreeing before my brain can give approval.
Wait, what?
With Eli? And his brothers? And his mom, and his niece?
That’s not our agreement. That’s not our agreement at all.
“Perfect,” Clarabelle says, letting Rusty lead her off. “Four o’clock!”
Then she’s gone. Rusty leads her off, excitedly discussing the sorts of ice cream they’re about to eat.
When she’s out of earshot, Adeline turns to me.
“I have bad news,” she says.
I scrunch up my face, waiting for it.
“I feel like she knows,” Adeline goes on. “It’s just a theory but I’m pretty sure it’s right.”