Sex Says

“Grandpa just said shitheap!” Henry exclaimed.

“Dad.”

He just shrugged. “Sorry, Annie, but I can’t bash and spell out words like a moron at the same time. Something’s gotta give here.”

“I hope that handsome boy gets a taste of his own medicine.”

“Jesus, Mom.” I groaned. “Are you even trying?”

“I think your dad’s idea about the remote island is something to think about, Lola.”

Brian had a point, and it came without the requirement of getting the president’s approval first. Obviously, I needed to add it to my list.

I clicked open the Notes section on my phone and typed it in.

Way to get rid of Reed Luca:

1. Teleportation Device

2. Remote Island

Okay, so there were only two items on that list, but in my defense, I refused to resort to homicide. It was too fucking messy, and there was no way in hell I’d mess up my manicure and fresh coat of pink shellac for Reed Luca. I was a bit eccentric, but I wasn’t insane.

In the meantime, I’d just have to go back to ignoring him. I’d managed that just fine until earlier this afternoon, and I could do it again.

Reed Luca only exists if I want him to exist. Reed Luca only exists if I want him to exist, I chanted in my head.

One click of the heels of my bright pink boots and he’d be nothing but a memory.

“I can’t believe I let you talk me into getting you that information,” my brother-in-law Cam hissed as soon as I walked in the back door of my parents’ house. It led right into the kitchen, and apparently, tonight, acted as an equally valid portal to confrontation.

“Sure you can,” I told him, pulling off my jacket, tossing it on the hook by the door, and moseying toward the stools at the island. “We’re family. My shit is your shit.”

My nonchalance did nothing to calm him down. If anything, his stance got more aggressive.

“No, no, that’s not true. I never want your shit to be my shit. I’m a cop. Your shit should actually never be my shit.” Unfortunately for Cam, he was also notorious for losing all semblance of volume control when his patience started to drain.

“You got involved with his shit?!” my sister said at a near shriek as she rounded the corner, already nine-tenths involved in the conversation and our huddle before even fully entering the room. But to be fair, that was mostly her stomach’s fault.

“Can people stop saying shit?” my dad called from the recliner in the living room. “I missed my morning constitutional, and I’m feeling inadequate.”

I smiled, but my sister was too wrapped up in her husband’s dirty dealings to reflect on our dad’s sense of humor.

“Cam!” she railed. “You know better than to do anything my brother ever says. Jesus. We had this talk the night we started dating!”

I raised my eyebrows, impressed. “I was a first-date topic? Geez, sis. I’ve never felt so loved.”

“Shut up, Reed.”

I didn’t do what she said. Shocking, I know.

“Don’t worry, Laura, it was no big deal.”

“Yeah, right. You’re such a bullshitter. I’m amazed anything clean ever comes out of your mouth with all of the dirty lies you’re always spewing.”

“Laura,” Cameron started, his voice a consoling version of its normal deep timbre in an effort to head off the green-eyed monster, but she was already on a bender.

See, my sister Laura was the hysterical kind of woman. Pure energy and pure heart, she was always trying to bring the rest of us derelicts up to her level. Unfortunately for her, some of us just weren’t meant to live life on the highest road, and as a result, she’d never reach the goal she so valiantly strove for.

“What’d you do, Cam? I swear to all that’s holy it better not be anything that’s gonna make me tell this baby its father is a no-good criminal.”

That was the other thing about Laura. She was already a tornado, but this embarrassingly pregnant version of her was hell on wheels. Just a few months from her due date, and I was convinced that given the right angle, her baby could eat my soul.

“The little bambino is going to be fine. All he did was get me an address.”

“Reed!” Cam yelled at the same time Laura shrieked, “On the police database?”

I waved at them both, like maybe cooling them down physically would aid in their emotional response. “He only did it because he didn’t want you to know that he had an incident with a transvestite prostitute in Amsterdam.”

“Fucking shit, Reed!” Cam yelled. I glanced to my dad, but with his eyes now glued to the TV, he didn’t even flinch.

“I’m doing you a favor,” I explained, but at the same time, Laura leveled him with a look so hostile I wondered if I was lying. At this point, even I didn’t know.

“What incident?” Laura gritted out as Cam talked himself out of taking out his gun and shooting me on the spot. The flexed jaw and wild eyes were dead giveaways that he was treading water right on the edge.

“Nothing even happened,” I told her casually, picking up a carrot and dipping it into the bowl of ranch dressing before popping it in my mouth. “She tried to pick him up. I honestly don’t know why he’s been so hell-bent on keeping it a secret all of these years.”

My sister’s icy exterior started to thaw, but Cam wasn’t having any of it.

“Maybe because it’s fucking embarrassing.”

I waved him off. “It’s not. It’s natural and funny, and now I can’t ever force you to do anything you don’t want by holding it over your head.”

The deep cloud of his anger dissipated like the San Francisco fog as what I said rang true. Still, just like my momma always said, it kind of seemed like his face froze like that.

“See,” I said. “I did you a favor.”

He didn’t look like he thought so.

But he didn’t look like a man in the throes of a murder either, so beggars can’t be choosers.

“Uh-oh,” my mom muttered as she swept into the room with a freshly washed stack of dish towels. “What did Reed do now?”

I smiled at her frankness. My family as a whole was traditional in almost every sense of the word, but my mom was the kind of woman who didn’t pull any punches. Actually, my sister was almost a perfect reflection of her—if she were constantly hopped up on sugar and heroin.

“Same shit, different day,” Cameron muttered, pulling my dad’s attention from the other room again.

“I told you it isn’t the same shit. I haven’t been able to force a raft into the river for goddamn anything today.”

“Turn off the game and come in here, Jimmy,” my mom called, completely unfazed by my father’s TMI, as I laughed and Laura and Cam cracked smiles.

My dad was the kind of guy who embarrassed you when you were younger by coming out to meet your friends in his tighty-whitey underwear and farting during the school Christmas pageant. He did the same kind of stuff now that we were adults, but it was a whole hell of a lot easier to appreciate it for its comedic value. Though, if I’m honest, I always appreciated it—but I never cared what anyone else thought.

Laura had a slightly harder time tuning out everyone else’s opinions.

The squeal of the footrest retracting on my dad’s chair indicated his compliance, so I shoved a couple more carrots into my mouth while we waited for him to appear.

My mother smacked my hand. “Stop eating so many carrots. You’ll ruin your dinner.”

I barked a chuckle. “I’m sorry, but isn’t the point of putting out appetizers to eat them before consuming an equally delicious meal?”

I looked to Cam and Laura for validation, but the two of them knew better than to get involved. Cowards.

“Those are there for everyone, and you’ve had more than your share.”

“I’m a growing boy,” I argued. After all, maybe Lola liked muscle. I’d need my vegetables to grow it.

“Some parts of you are still a boy,” my father grumbled as he shuffled into the kitchen, cutting off my Lola daydream.

I didn’t think he’d ever stop telling me to grow up, and I wasn’t sure I’d ever care. Something about him telling me just made it feel like he still cared—wanted what was best for me. I didn’t happen to agree about what that was, but it really was the thought that counted. I smiled.

“Jesus, Jimmy!” my mom scoffed, catching sight of my dad for the first time that night. “Are you wearing swim trunks?”

He glanced down to check.

“I told you to dress nice for dinner.”

“They cover everything,” my dad argued. “We’re not at a five-star restaurant, we’re in our goddamn house. What’s the difference what kind of pants I have on?”

“Just be glad he’s wearing pants at all,” Laura muttered, and I smiled as I reached for another carrot. My mom’s warning eyes met mine, but the trajectory of my hand never slowed.

She just shook her head and went back to her business at the sink. My father was still trying to convince me to change. She put on a show with the initial reprimand, but overall, she was resigned to the man I was—and secretly liked him.

I guess she and Lola have that in common, I thought musingly.