The Devil Wears Black

“Shouldn’t she start with small quantities?” Katie turned to Amber.

“I’m hun-grayyyyyy,” Clementine whined, throwing her head back.

“Really, it’ll be no trouble at all. It will take me ten minutes,” Madison began to explain in the cacophony of voices that spoke over one another.

“Just let her have pancakes!” my father boomed all of a sudden, slamming his fist on the table. The room fell quiet. Madison sprang into action, scurrying to the kitchen.

I turned my attention back to my food.

“Aren’t you going to accompany your fiancée?” Julian sat back, starting a new shitstorm.

I shrugged. “She can find her way around your kitchen.”

“Can you find your way to the twenty-first century, though? That’s quite chauvinistic.”

I fought an eye roll. “Since when is it chauvinistic to insinuate that my girlfriend can make her own food? Doesn’t it make her independent? Anyway, when was the last time you fixed yourself a plate of something that wasn’t bought at Whole Foods?”

“Girlfriend?” Julian arched an eyebrow that said busted. “Thought she was your fiancée.”

“Chase. Julian. Stop,” my mother bit out. “You’re upsetting your father.”

He started it, I wanted to protest. For obvious reasons, I didn’t.

I could see Madison making herself comfortable in Julian and Amber’s kitchen. Heard the sound of the sizzling butter as it hit the pan. The scent of warm sugar wafted through the air, and I didn’t think there was one asshole at the table who wanted to eat crab stuffed into organic vegetables instead of what my fake fiancée was making.

“I really like Maddie.” Booger Face sucked on her organic boxed juice, sighing.

“That’s nice, sweetheart.” Amber looked away from her plate, blinking rapidly.

“I really, really like her,” Clementine continued, not winning any tact points this evening. “It is nice of her to make me pancakes. I hope I see her in the clinic again soon.”

Amber snapped her head up like a guard dog who’d just heard a twig crunching under a boot. “In the clinic?”

“Yeah. When I went to get my shots. I wanted to say hello, but you were talking on the phone and said there was no time, remember?” Clementine glanced at her in confusion, and something very dark and very cold uncurled inside my chest. I bet Amber hadn’t been paying attention to what Clementine said at the time. “I saw her when I went to the doctor to get my shots. Maddie hugged my doctor. She hugged him hard. For a long time. Like couples in movies do. It was so disgusting.” Booger Face shivered, shaking her head with disgust.

The room was so quiet I could hear my own heartbeat. All eyes slowly slid in my direction. I had nothing to say. Nothing other than WHY WAS MADISON HUGGING THE ASSHOLE WITH THE TIE AND TIGHTS LONG AND HARD LIKE COUPLES IN MOVIES DO?

Hugging led to other things, and all those things assaulted my brain in a collage of Mad and Dr. Tights going at it like bunnies in front of a pediatric clinic. Him grabbing the back of her neck roughly, thrusting his tongue into her mouth. I took a sip of my water, concentrating on not tossing the table and everything on it through the floor-to-ceiling window. I wanted to do something radical and violent and shocking but knew it wasn’t going to help my case.

I didn’t trust myself to speak. To think.

“Is that so, sweetheart?” Julian poured more water into my glass, his voice like a snake’s hiss. “What’s your pediatrician’s name again?”

“Dr. Goodman,” Clementine purred, stupidly delighted to be acknowledged by her father. “He has the best ties, Dad. Of cartoons and Disney characters. And he lets me pinch him when he gives me shots. I like him, even though he hugged Maddie so hard there was no space between their bodies. Then he kissed her cheek. Yuck.”

I was going to commit murder. I was sure of it.

Amber’s eyes were clinging to my face, but it was Katie who asked brokenly, “Chase? I mean . . . is this true?”

I had two options. Making Booger Face look like a liar—which she wasn’t—or chalking this up to her wild nine-year-old imagination. There was also a third option, of admitting it to be true and coming clean. But that meant letting Julian win. Three years ago, I’d have bowed out of this gracefully.

Today, though, it was war.

“Maybe you saw someone who looks like her, Booger.” I ran my hand through Clementine’s braid.

She stared at me, serious as a heart attack, scowling. “No, I didn’t. She wore the same green dress with the little avocados she did in the Hamptons. I told Mommy I want a dress like that, and she said she would rather set herself on fire than have me wear it.”

Fuck my life in the ass. I’d chosen the most recognizable woman in New York to play my doting fake fiancée. Everyone was watching our exchange intently. My father, especially, looked pale and extra frail. He knotted his fingers together, tapping his index fingers to his lips contemplatively.