my friend’s ex-wife. Especially not in front of all her girlfriends. Comments like that would send the ‘awkward meter’ into the stratosphere. So, I completely side-step the issue of my attraction to the woman and go with a safer response.
“Face-in-Book meant that you always preferred to have your head in your books instead of looking up and making connections with the people around you. I did not isolate you, Iris. You isolated yourself.”
Her jaw twitches as a response fights to come out. But she swallows it back, exercising her self-restraint. Like I should have a few seconds ago before I went on ranting.
Y’know what? This has been a lovely evening up until this point and I have a niggling feeling that if I stick around any longer, I’m just gonna fuck it all up. Better to quit while I’m ahead.
I rise up from the table, my eyes still on my glaring roommate. I just can’t resist one last dig. “College was a long-ass time ago. But some people just want to stay trapped in the past. A lot has happened since then. So you might want to stop and consider that you're basing your character assessment of me off of out-dated information.” I should probably end my rant right there, but when it comes to my big mouth, as usual, I’m lacking in self-control. “And for the record, I always found you attractive, Iris. Beautiful. You’ve only gotten more beautiful with time.”
Okay, yup. Too far. I went too far.
My roommate looks like she wants to tear off my balls and dunk them into my teacup. Steep, baby. Steep.
A tight, itchy silence blankets the room as Iris and I glare at each other. I address the other women at the table. “Thank you for dinner, ladies. It was delicious.”
I grab my empty plate, tuck it into the dishwasher and drag my ass up to my bedroom.
9
Jude
Ma sets down a steaming teacup on the table, right next to my plate of warm-from-the-oven apple pie.
“Did I put too much sugar? Is it too sweet?” She fusses as I take my first sip. “Is it too hot?” She presses the back of her hand against my forehead. “Oh look at you, poor thing. You’re sweating.”
Walker throws a glare at me from under the brim of his straw hat. He’s across the deck, tightening a loose screw on the porch gate. “He’s sweating because he’s drinking tea in eighty-six degree weather,” he mutters, expression heavy with irritation.
I’ve always been amazed by Walker’s ability to convey so much vitriol with so few words. It’s an impressive skill that doesn’t get nearly enough recognition.
Ma doesn’t register my oldest brother’s smart-ass comment, though. She’s too busy fluffing up the cushion behind my back. “Walker, go get him the table fan. The extension cord should be able to reach.”
As the youngest of the Kingston boys, it’s basically my biological obligation to give my older brothers shit. So, I can’t resist the urge to razz him. “Yeah, Walker. The extension cord should be able to reach.” I serve myself another slice of pie.
My brother’s response is an eyeroll.
It’s a sunny afternoon. We’re all chilling on the back porch of the Kingston Family Inn. And I’m seriously starting to question why I subject myself to the awkwardness over at Iris’s place when I could just move here and get the royal treatment twenty-four-seven.
My mother loves fawning over me. Really, I’m the one doing her a favor.
She focuses her devoted attention on me. “Do you need anything else, sweetie?”
I rub my thigh that’s elevated on the empty chair beside me. “Maybe some more ice for my knee, please?”
My mother smiles dutifully. “Oh, yes, honey. Of course. Right away.”
“Thanks, Ma. You’re the best.” I stuff another bite of delicious pie into my face as she scurries inside through the screen door.
Callie snickers from where she’s tucked against my father’s side across the table.
“What are you laughing at?” I scrunch up my nose at my four-year-old niece and grin.
“Uncle Jude’s a big baby.” She licks her sticky fingers and digs into her basket of crayons.
“You’re the big baby,” I say, “With that ice cream you have all over your face.” I stick out my tongue and shove a wad of paper towels at her.
She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and giggles adorably.
When Mom rushes back out with an ice pack and some towels, my father looks up from his newspaper and shakes his head. “Diana, it’s a knee injury. He’s