Our Way

She goes back to chopping and shrugs. “But now I realize that he’s just super upfront and doesn’t mince his words. He has no mouth to brain filter at all, so if he thinks something, he just blurts it out.”

“What did he say that made you think that he liked you?” Mom asks.

“He told me that he didn’t think he could hire me because he found me attractive.”

What the fuck?

I step back from the door so I can listen, unnoticed. Who says that in an interview? I get a vision of strangling Henry fucking Morgan.

How dare he?

“What?” Mom splutters with a giggle. “That’s so inappropriate.”

Eliza laughs. “I know, right? I was so shocked at the time, but I know now that it was just a misunderstanding.”

Fury begins to pump through my veins.

“But I told him that Nathan was my boyfriend so he knows I’m not interested,” Eliza adds.

Mom laughs. “Oh, wouldn’t that be something? You and Nathan together.

All of my prayers would be answered.”

Jessica laughs. “I’ll say, although being married to a plastic surgeon would have its perks, too. You could design your own body. What would you get done if you could have anything? Like, anything in the world. I think I’d have a nose job.”

“Oh, I’d get a boob lift, for sure,” Mom replies. “I’ve always wanted one.”

Their line of conversation moves onto plastic surgery and its horror stories, and I walk out into the back yard.

Henry Morgan likes her.

What the fuck? He likes her.

I knew it. I just want to punch something, hard.

“What’s wrong with you?” my brother Alex asks. “Looks like you want to kill someone.”

“It’s tempting.”

“Who’s tempting?” He laughs.

“You boys going to go into town and pick up that alcohol order for me?” Dad calls. “Can you swing by the rental place and pick up that extra canopy? I’m going to tack it on the side here. Rain is predicted for later tonight. It won’t take us long to get it up, and it’s better to be safe than sorry.”

“Yeah,” I call. “Okay, text me the address.”

Half an hour later, I’m sitting at the bar with Alex.

“What is it?” he asks.

“What’s what?” I sip my beer.

“What’s wrong with you?”

I shrug. He knows whenever something is wrong with me, usually before I do. He’s the only person I talk to, and he knows me better than anyone.

I can’t hide from him.

“Shit’s been going down.”