My Big Fat Fake Honeymoon

“We’re unusual people,” Courtney states dryly.

There’s a moment of stunned silence as we look from one to another, frozen in time and space. And then surprised, shocked laughter bursts out of all of us.

“Oh, my God, Abi, you should’ve seen the look on your face when you threw that drink,” Courtney huffs out between snorts. She pulls an exaggerated look of disbelief in mockery of what I apparently looked like.

“Not as great as Mom’s!” Ross adds, mimicking Mom’s horrified face.

“That was not funny!” Mom argues, but she’s laughing too.

Even Dad is chuckling.

“Thanks for having my back like that, Dad,” I tell him earnestly. “That was above and beyond any smackdown I’ve ever seen. Bitch smackdown, verbal warfare style.”

Dad bows formally. “Glad to be of service. You might choose to make your own way, but when push comes to shove, you are and always will be an Andrews and I will always ‘have your back’, honey.” He says the common phrase as if it’s weird on his lips before admitting, “I just wish it hadn’t been so . . .”

“Public?” Courtney offers.

“Yes,” Mom confirms. “Speaking of . . . are we making an announcement about another new marriage?” She leans forward, eager to hear my answer. I think she’d be quite happy and not surprised at all if I had run off and gotten married without telling a soul. Hell, as grandbaby-keen as she is, she’s probably hoping for a baby announcement too.

“At least this wedding, we won’t have to pay for,” Dad jokes, though I think he’s at least partially serious.

“Not funny, Dad,” Courtney complains. Her wedding was beautiful and spectacular and . . . not cheap. It most definitely had the price tag to go along with an Andrews event.

“Shh! I want to hear about this Lorenzo!” Mom bites, cutting off Dad and Courtney’s chitter chatter.

They hush, looking pleased with themselves but not willing to open their mouth and risk Mom’s wrath.

“He’s Violet’s cousin, a chef from Positano. He travels, cooking all over the world. He’s smart . . . funny . . . and passionate about life.” My voice fades off as memories of our conversations, our adventures, and our time together wash through my mind and body. I feel the smile on my face and the blush on my cheeks before anyone mentions them.

“Ah, hell, I’ve seen that look before. He’s a goner. Total toast in another Abi scheme. Does he know it yet?” Ross jokes.

I duck my chin, not wanting them to see the pink turn to a full flush of red. “It’s not like that. He was just helping a friend through a tough time.”

Courtney whispers out of the side of her mouth, “To answer your question, Ross . . . no, he doesn’t know because Abi hasn’t really admitted it to herself yet.”

Ross laughs at that, and I look up hotly, instantly in fight-or-flight mode, and I’ve never been one to fly. “What? Why is that funny? You think it’s funny that I had this great week with him and then it’s over just like that?” I yell.

He doesn’t back down or cower in the slightest, rather his laughter amps up. “Do I think it’s funny? Fuck yeah, I think it’s funny that for all your scheming . . . your whole life’s worth of scheming . . . you end up caught in one of your own webs and are floundering around, fighting it like we always do. I’ll let you in on a little something we all learned long ago . . . don’t. Just go with it. It’s better that way.”

“What?” I balk.

Ross and Courtney look at each other, united against me. That’s a first and I don’t like it. Not one bit.

Mom and Dad have matching looks of mirth on their faces too. I’m used to seeing them on the same page, but not united against me too.

Mom is somehow the elected spokesperson. “Dear, you know we love you, but you are rather known for your schemes. You have to admit that it’s a little amusing that you’ve gotten yourself tied so deeply in one of your own devious plots that you can’t see a way out. Ironic, no?”

I pout, crossing my arms over my chest. “No, I don’t think so.”

Dad has never been one to let me stew in my own pity party, even though I throw a hell of a soiree. “What’s your plan for this Lorenzo?”

I shrug, not over my sulk yet.

“Do not tell me you intend on sitting back and doing nothing?” Dad demands.

I shrug again, that being pretty much my exact plan. If Lorenzo wants more than the week we had, he knows where to find me.

At my silence, Dad leans back in his chair, his legs spread wide and his hands rubbing at his face. He meets my eyes through heavy lids. “I’m disappointed in you, Abigail.”