Family Ties

Chapter 9

Monday began the final mad rush to the end of the quarter. Trip and I both had design projects due and Wren had to finish two research papers. Christy’s quarter had more or less ended with the art exhibition, so she chipped in to help the rest of us.

She and Wren spent that evening in my bedroom working on the computer, revising the first of Wren’s papers. I was a little surprised at how well Christy could type. Her small hands practically flew over the Commodore’s keyboard.

“Where’d you learn to do that?” I asked on one trip past.

“What? Type?”

I nodded.

“High school. All the girls had to take typing and home economics classes.”

“How very enlightened,” Wren said sardonically.

“You wanna type this yourself, Miss Secular Know-it-all?”

“Whoa! I didn’t say that.”

“Then don’t give me a hard time about Catholic school.”

“She may be little, but she is fierce,” I said with a grin. “Y’all want anything from downstairs? A snack? Drinks?”

“A Coke, please,” Wren said.

“A glass of juice,” Christy said. “And maybe some carrots and celery?”

“So, rot your teeth and bunny food. Coming up.”

Christy’s smile lit up, so I stepped into the room and gave her a kiss.

“The best boyfriend ever,” she said.

Wren rolled her eyes.

“Hey,” I told her, “it’s your fault.”

“Which reminds me…,” Christy said as she turned to her. “What have you been telling him about me?”

“Uh-oh, someone’s in trouble.” I mock-saluted Wren and left her to her fate. Downstairs, I surveyed Trip’s drawings on the dining room table.

“How’s it going?”

“Okay,” he said. “Just need to make sure my proposal matches the revised drawings.”

“Want some help?”

“You mind?”

“No problem. I could use the break, to be honest. Lemme make a snack for the girls and then I’ll join you. Sound good?”

“Sure. Thanks.”

In the kitchen I cut up Christy’s vegetables and then on a whim decided to make dinner roll mini-sandwiches for Wren. While I had the ingredients out, I made regular sandwiches for Trip and me.

“We’re gonna need these,” I said as I set the plates on the dining room table.

“Yeah, probably. I’ll start some coffee too.” He followed me back into the kitchen.

“Grab a Coke for me,” I said. “And lemme run this up to the girls. Then we’ll tackle your proposal.”

“You got it.”

I carried a loaded tray up to my room.

“Thank God you’re here,” Wren said as I appeared in the door. She looked unusually chastised. “Feed her, please!”

“My pleasure.” I slid the tray onto the corner of my desk. “I made a snack for you, too.”

“Oh, I could kiss you!”

“Gotta take care of my two favorite girls.”

“And don’t you forget it,” Christy said as she nabbed the plate of veggies.

“Not a chance.”

She smiled her thanks, and Wren sagged in relief as she took a long drink of Coke.

“Anything else?” I said. “Trip needs my help, so I’m headed back down.

Don’t work too late.”

“We won’t,” Christy said. “We’re almost finished anyway. Thanks for the snacks.”

I gave her another quick kiss.

“You two are so cute,” Wren said without a trace of sarcasm.

“Don’t you forget it either,” Christy said to her. “Now, where’s the next page?”

I grinned and headed back down to Trip. It was going to be a long night, but I couldn’t think of better people to spend it with.

Christy stuck her head into my studio on Tuesday evening. I finished cutting a piece of foamcore and then slid the cap onto my X-Acto knife. (You shouldn’t need an accident to learn that lesson.)

“Hey. What’s up?”

“I brought you a surprise,” she said. She came around the door holding a small lacquered box. She looked at my model and stopped. “I don’t know how you do it,” she said after a moment. “It looks almost real.”

“It’s supposed to look real,” I chuckled. “It’s a scale model.”

She rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean.”

“Yeah. Thanks. I’m pretty proud of it. I think it’s the best one I’ve ever done. The roof is the best part. Thanks for all your help.”

“You’re welcome. I have something else for you, if you want.”

“Sure. What is it?”

“Well, you remember I said you needed art for your museum?”

“Yeah. But you were so busy with the Replicant that I didn’t bother you about it.”

“I made something anyway.” She held out the box. “It isn’t much, but…”

I lifted the box’s lid and scanned the contents. It took me a moment to realize what I was looking at. Folds of red silk cushioned six small white objects, each a bit larger than my thumb.

“Sayuri gave me the box,” Christy said nervously. “It’s made for netsuke, but she says these are really okimono. She knew exactly what I needed, though. She even had a couple of them. Boxes, I mean. This was the biggest.

Netsuke are small, duh, so they don’t need lots of space. Besides, they’re meant to— Uh-oh. I’m chattering again, aren’t I? Sorry. That’s enough about

the silly box. I hope you like the statues.”

“They’re amazing,” I said. “When did you—?” The answer suddenly hit me. “The plastic beach pails! When we were casting the Replicant, right?”

Her smile lit up.

I looked into the box again. Then I carefully extracted a tiny replica of Canova’s Psyche Revived by Cupid’s Kiss. The wings were delicate perfection, the lovers’ bodies beautiful even in miniature.

“Trip helped me get the scale right to match your model,” she said. “I tried to do it myself but you know me and math.”

I scanned them again and shook my head in wonder. In addition to Canova’s Psyche, she’d made miniature versions of Rodin’s Danaïd and Kiss, the classical Dying Gaul, and Bernini’s Apollo and Daphne as well as his David, which I liked quite a bit more than Michelangelo’s more famous version.

“Wow,” I said reverently. “These are amazing. You’re amazing!”

She flushed. “Thank you.”

“How did you know so many of my favorites?”

“Trip helped with that too. He showed me the book you lent him. I found the pages that looked like they’d been opened the most. I picked out the Danaïd and five others and made them.”

“Ah, very clever.”

“Thank you. But… if you don’t mind me asking, why do you like that one Rodin statue so much, the one of the old guy?”

I chuckled. “The Naked Balzac?”

She furrowed her brow at my amusement.

“Because that’s a man who doesn’t give a crap what critics think.”

“Okay,” she said as she thought about it, “I can see that.”

“And to me, that sculpture is about the power of intellect. Yeah, The Thinker is the famous one, but it doesn’t… radiate power. It’s a very cerebral piece.” I shrugged and tried to put my feelings into words. “I guess I think of myself as The Thinker sometimes, especially when I’m in a brooding mood.

So if The Thinker is how I am, Naked Balzac is how I want to be. He’s powerful, intelligent, sure of his own talent and ability.”

“But… you are like that.”

“Maybe sometimes,” I said, “on the outside. But I don’t always feel like it on the inside. So I guess I look at the Naked Balzac and think I should be more like him. I know it’s kinda silly, but…” I shrugged again.

“No, it’s beautiful.”

“There’s beauty in everything, I guess,” I said soberly. “Even being insecure and using a statue as a role model.”

Her eyes glistened.

“What?” I said, suddenly self-conscious.

She smiled and shook her head and didn’t try to explain. “Do you want to use the statues?” she asked instead, her tone deliberately lighter.

“Of course. Care to help?”

“Sure.”

I carefully removed the roof of the model and we spent a few minutes deciding where each miniature sculpture should go. The Danaïd was easiest, since it matched the lines of the building. It went in the entry plaza. The other pieces fit inside the building itself. I cut foamcore and made little pedestals for them. When we were done, we stood back and surveyed the effect.

“They’re perfect,” I said. “I can’t believe you added so much detail. I mean, they’re totally recognizable.”

“Thanks. I don’t want to tell you how long I spent getting them right. It’s really hard working that small.”

“I’ll bet! But they’re incredible.”

“They aren’t much, but I’m glad you like them.”

“They’re just like you: small and wonderful.” I put my arm around her.

“And mine.”

She rolled her eyes but hugged me around the middle.

“I’m sorry we haven’t had much time together,” I said after a while.

“It’s okay. Everyone’s so busy.”

“Yeah. Only going to get worse until exams are over.”

She nodded.

“Maybe then we can go on a real date.”

“I’d like that. You are my boyfriend, after all.” She grinned up at me. “I like saying that.”

“I like hearing it.”

I glanced at the easy chair and was thinking about an impromptu make-out session when the phone rang. I looked at my watch.

“Who’d be calling this late?”

Wren answered it and then shouted from below, “Paul, phone!”

“Paul, phone,” Christy echoed with a grin.

We went downstairs to find Wren in my room at the computer. She held

out the flowery telephone handset.

“Who is it?” I asked.

“How should I know?” she snapped. “Sorry,” she said immediately. “This dumb computer lost my other paper.”

“It didn’t lose it,” Christy said patiently. “You have to put in the right disk.” She glanced at me. “Why don’t you use the phone in my room.”

I grinned and imagined her mother saying the same thing.

“I got it,” I called when I picked up the extension in her room. I heard a click as Wren hung up. “Hello?”

“Hey,” Sara said. “Did I catch you at a bad time?”

“It’s the last week of the quarter,” I said. “Projects and papers due. A mountain of work. Exams coming up.”

“Oh. Right. Want me to let you go?”

“Nah, screw that stuff. I’d rather talk to you.” I moved clothes from Christy’s bed, including a wine-colored bra and panty set. They were lacy and revealing, and I imagined her wearing them. I chuckled to myself and set them on top of the other clothes, where she’d know I’d seen them.

“How was your Thanksgiving?” Sara asked as I sat down.

I searched for the right word. “Eventful. Some good, some bad, some…

exciting. It’s a really long story, though. Tell me about yours first. How’d it go with the gallery owner?”

“Eventful,” she mimicked.

“Good? Bad? Exciting?”

“All three, I think.”

“Start with the bad. Then the good. End on a positive note with the exciting stuff.”

“I’m glad I called you,” she said with a long-distance smile. “Not just tonight, but back when Jamie first gave me your number.”

“I’m glad you did too.”

“I really mean it. You make me think everything’s going to be all right in my sometimes-crappy life.”

“Everyone’s life is crappy sometimes. Just find what makes you happy and forget all the other stuff. So… what’s the bad? Let’s get that out of the way.”

“Well, the bad isn’t really all that bad. Just… the same.”

“Daphne?”

“Yeah. She spent Thanksgiving with her guy.”

“Did they visit his family?”

“Oh, God no! He won’t do that while she’s still working at the club.”

“Wonderful,” I said. “Love the double standard.”

“You know it.”

“And she’s still pulling away from you?”

“Yeah,” she said with a sigh. “She hasn’t been home since last week. She still has a few things here—I think she’s too scared to officially break up with me—but it’s over. In all but name.”

“I’m sorry to hear. Why don’t you end it, for both of you?”

“I should, but…”

“Yeah, I know. Easier said than done.”

“Right.”

“You’re going to have to do it eventually. Or you’ll come home one day and she’ll be gone for good.”

“You know her so well.” She laughed, but it was forlorn.

“Yeah, I guess I do. I mean, she was my girlfriend too… at least for a while.”

“Yeah.”

“So be a grown-up and end it. Then you can be friends after. You know if she just disappears, you won’t hear from her again. Ever. She’ll feel too guilty.”

“Yeah, you’re right. I know it, but…”

“Easier said than done,” I repeated.

“Let’s talk about something happier.”

“Okay. What’s the good part of your Thanksgiving?”

“I had fun with the gallery owner and her friends. They’re mostly older than me, but they’re really cool women.”

“Romantic possibilities?”

“Yes, but not like you’re thinking. Not like I was thinking either.”

“Oh. How then?”

“Well, Max— Wait, lemme back up. The gallery owner is Maxine, but everyone calls her Max.”

“Got it.”

“Okay, so… Max.” She paused and considered her next words. “Let’s talk about the good first. Then the exciting, like you said.”

“Right.”

“So, the good: she definitely wants to help my career.”

“I’m not surprised. You’re really talented.”

“You’ve always said that, even when I was a total bitch to you.”

“’Cause it’s true.”

“Thanks. Sometimes I have a hard time believing it, though.”

“I know exactly what you mean.”

“Yeah, I guess you would. Anyway, Max can do a lot for my career. And I don’t have to sleep with her.”

“Is that good or bad?”

“I’m not sure,” she said with a laugh. “I mean, I was prepared for her to tell me I was spending the weekend. It wouldn’t’ve been the first time.”

“Yeah, I kinda figured,” I said.

“Maybe the first time a woman said it to me, but… it didn’t happen.”

“Oh?”

“No. I get the feeling she wouldn’t mind if I did, but on my terms.

That’s… new to me.”

“What? Someone treating you like a person instead of property?”

“You have no idea,” she said quietly.

“No, I don’t. But I’m sorry.”

“I don’t need your pity,” she flared.

“It isn’t pity. It’s… empathy.”

“Oh.”

“I’ve never been in your situation, but I know what it feels like to have someone treat you like a convenient sex toy.” I thought about Kendall, and sometimes even Gina. “I never really felt… powerless… but still.”

“Yeah, well… you have no idea.”

“No, I don’t. So… let’s talk about something happier. The gallery owner is interested?”

“Yeah, I think she is, but it wasn’t a power thing with her. I think she’d like to sleep with me—and believe it or not, I’d like to sleep with her—but it wasn’t a condition of the deal. She wants to take me under her wing and introduce me to people.”

“Art lovers or other lesbians?”

“Both. And you’d be surprised how many gay men she knows. They come to her gallery too. She’s the one who bought those pictures of you, by the way. I can always sell more prints from that session, but let me know if you ever want to model again. Okay?”

“Okay,” I said with a laugh. “Although I don’t know how I really feel

about gay guys looking at me like that.”

“If I can do it, so can you,” she said. “I mean, I never minded guys looking at me in the clubs. I didn’t wanna do anything else with them, even when I had to, but I didn’t mind them looking.”

“Makes sense,” I said. “But it probably took you a while to get used to it, right?”

“Not really. I mean, I always liked showing off. Especially after I developed. And that was before I realized what I was. What I am. So I thought I was supposed to like guys looking at me. I even tried to like them, but… they were losers or fucked me over.”

“Pretty common story, unfortunately,” I said. “I’m not ashamed to be a guy, but sometimes other guys give the rest of us a bad reputation.”

“I never met a good guy till you.”

“I can believe it.”

“That’s why it took me so long to admit it. You’re not like other guys.”

“I’m not like most guys,” I said. “There are other guys like me.”

“Yeah, well… I’ve never met ’em.”

“Fair enough. So… back to Max. She wants to take you under her wing?”

“Yeah. It’d help her too, though. For sure. That’s kind of what she does.

She finds young artists and promotes them. She takes her cut of the money, but I think she actually wants to help.”

“That’s pretty noble.”

“Well, she enjoys a lot of… um… fringe benefits,” she said with a laugh.

“I mean, I was ready to sleep with her if I thought it’d help my career. I think I wanna sleep with her even more now I know it isn’t expected.”

“Imagine that,” I said, semi-sarcastic, “free will is an aphrodisiac!”

“It kinda is,” she said with another laugh. “I mean, I almost wanted to sleep with you when I realized you weren’t going to try anything. Almost,”

she stressed.

“Thanks for clearing that up,” I said dryly. “So… Max? She’s the good news. What’s the exciting news?”

“Also Max, but…” She fell silent for a long time, and I wasn’t sure she’d continue. “I guess I can trust you,” she said at last. “You’ve told me about your deep, dark secrets.”

“True. So… what’s yours? One of them, at least. I suspect you have several.”

“You have no idea,” she said heavily.

“I just said I do. Now, what’s the first secret you’re ready to share?”

“It isn’t actually a secret. Just… part of my past. Well, part of who I am.

And I figure since you’re a swinger, you won’t think it’s perverted or degenerate or anything.”

“Probably not,” I agreed.

“So, back in the clubs…,” she began. Then she drew a deep breath.

“Okay, here goes. A lot of clubs have this… side… to them. The stuff that happens in the back rooms.”

“Right,” I said neutrally. I’d never really thought about strip clubs in terms of how many of the women were forced to have sex, but Sara had opened my eyes.

“Most guys are just there for the power. They hold it over us. Over them, the girls. But some guys, especially big CEO-types and powerful men, like to be… um… dominated.”

“Like… Domination and Submission?”

“I should’ve known you’d know about that scene,” she said with a laugh.

“I know of it,” I said, “but not much about it. I mean, I know what D&S

is, mostly thanks to an ex-girlfriend, but I’ve never been to a club or party or anything like that.”

“Well, you learn about that stuff pretty quick in a strip club. I was never a submissive type—”

“That’s Daphne.”

“Right. I was always the dom. But that doesn’t really get me off. Not like some women I’ve met. And I mean, like, dominatrix women, with whips and chains and everything. Jesus, Paul… some of the stories I could tell you.”

“I can imagine. Maybe sometime…”

“Yeah, maybe. But Max… So, she must have recognized something about me.”

I laughed and quickly added, “Sara, anyone who’s spent five minutes with you knows you’re a dom.”

“I’m not that much of a bitch,” she said resentfully.

“I didn’t say ‘bitch.’ I said ‘dom.’ I’m the same way. I’m in charge and I know it. That’s probably why Daphne was attracted to each of us. And to the new guy. You said he’s a finance hotshot? Well, that’s pretty much a dominant personality. You, me, him. You’re part of the club, sister. Gabba gabba hey.”

“I love the Ramones.” She laughed. “Bet you didn’t know that.”

“That you’re a Ramones fan? Doesn’t surprise me a bit. You’re a rebel too, like me.”

“You aren’t a rebel,” she protested. “You’re about as straight as they come.”

“Says the dom lesbian to the nudist swinger.”

“Oh, yeah. It’s easy to forget. You seem so… normal.”

“I am normal.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I do. But I try not to judge people. ‘Normal’ is whatever makes you happy, as long as it doesn’t hurt anyone else.”

“Unless they want to be hurt.”

“Ah, right.”

“Like some of the guys I’ve met. Which brings us back to Max and her friend.”

“Friend?” I tasted the word. It had a special flavor when Sara said it.

“Yeah. That’s the exciting part of the story.”

“Oh? Do tell.”

“She has a friend who met this new woman. It’s the craziest situation I’ve ever heard, but hey… who’m I to judge, right?”

“My sentiments exactly.”

“So the friend’s new girlfriend has a daughter, about my age. The daughter is married, but her husband’s gay. She’s just a beard so his parents don’t find out.”

“Let me guess,” I laughed, “they were trying to set you up?”

“Right in one. The daughter is a real sub type, like Daphne. ‘Needs a take-charge type,’ Max says.”

“Enter Sara,” I said, “take-charge type and getting out of a long-term relationship.”

“Right again. They don’t know about Daphne, though. So to them I’m just an unattached dom. But I’m a lipstick lesbian, not butch like a lot of women out here.”

“Never heard that description before,” I said with a laugh, “but it makes sense.”

“Yeah, and it’s kinda important to the story. It wouldn’t work with this woman if I was butch, ’cause her husband’s parents would figure it out real quick. I mean, this is San Francisco, not St. Louis.”

“Ah, gotcha,” I said. “But since you’re a lipstick lesbian, she can pass you

off as just a ‘friend.’”

“You’re starting to figure this out,” she said with a grin in her voice.

“I still sense some hesitation, though.”

“The daughter’s really hot, and she’s totally my type, but…”

“Ah… I think I get it. You don’t want to get hurt again, like with Daphne.”

“You really know me, don’t you?”

“As well as anyone does,” I said. “You’re human too, after all.”

She laughed softly. “I appreciate that. It’s easy to forget when I hear what guys like Jerry Falwell say on the news about people like me.”

“Don’t even get me started about that guy. Self-righteous asshole is about the nicest thing I’ll say.”

“Fucking douchebag is what I say.”

“Moving on,” I said. “We could spend all night talking about the hypocrites and prudes in the Moral Majority.”

“No kidding. So… this woman they introduced me to. I kind of like the idea of some no-strings-attached fun, but I’m a little worried, too.”

“What if you get attached?”

“Right. Still… it’s exciting.”

“Sounds like it. Are you going to see her again?”

“As a matter of fact… Max bought a bunch of my newest prints, and she’s having a private show next week. The friend and new girlfriend and daughter will be there.”

“You’re right,” I laughed, “it is a complex relationship.”

“I told you…” She laughed too. “So, that’s what’s going on in my life.

What’s your story? Did it go well with Christy’s family?”

“Well, we’re officially boyfriend-girlfriend now.”

“So that’s a ‘yes.’”

“So far, so good.” I told her the highlights of my Thanksgiving with the Carmichael clan.

She reacted predictably to the parts about my fight with Rich and the ongoing macho one-upmanship. “Typical.” And she was amused by how Anne seemed to run the entire show with a quiet hand behind the scenes.

“Most guys never give women enough credit.”

“Oh,” I said, “I think Christy’s dad knows what her mom’s doing.

They’re a partnership. Maybe not like my own parents, but they’ve been together for 35 years. So I think they’ve probably figured out how they work

as a team.”

“Maybe you’re right. Totally different from what I grew up with. And just so you know, if I ever sound like I resent your little princess, it isn’t personal. It’s ’cause she grew up with a perfect life and perfect parents.”

“No one’s perfect,” I said gently.

“Yeah, but some of us got the really fucked-up end of the spectrum.”

“But you survived. And it’s why you’ll be successful. You don’t take it for granted, so you work for it. That’s what Max sees in you. Heck, it’s what I see in you. I mean, I’ll always care about Daphne, and a part of me even loves her, but we’ll never be lifelong friends.”

“Oh, so you think we’ll be lifelong friends?”

“You tell me.”

“You’re a smug son of a bitch when you’re right. You know that, don’t you?”

“I’ve been told a time or two,” I said with a grin.

“So… things are going well with you and Christy?”

“Yeah, I think they are.”

“You still haven’t told her about the nudist camp and the swinging, though, have you?”

“Baby steps.”

“Those are some big-girl steps.” She laughed at the understatement. “Do you think she can handle it?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“That’s a change. You were pretty worried before.”

“I’m still worried. But now that I’ve spent more time with her—”

“And done more than just kiss.”

“—I think she’s probably a lot more uninhibited than I gave her credit for. And yeah, getting past kissing was a big deal.”

“She didn’t run off to church or confession?”

“Nope. Not once. Didn’t even seem to feel guilty.”

“So… maybe you were wrong about her?”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe what?”

“Maybe I was wrong.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “Must be a bad connection. What did you say?”

I grinned and raised my voice, “I said, maybe I was wrong!”

“Sorry,” Sara said without sounding it, “I couldn’t resist.”

Christy and Wren appeared in the door, one after the other.

I looked back at them and suddenly felt self-conscious. I was sprawled on Christy’s bed like I owned it.

“Who’re you yelling at?” Christy said.

“Hold on a sec,” I told Sara. To Christy and Wren, “I’m talking to Sara. I wasn’t yelling, though.”

“Sounded like it to us,” Wren said.

“She was teasing me.”

Sara said something, so I put the phone to my ear again. “Say again?”

“Is it Christy? Let me talk to her.”

I rolled off the bed and held out the phone. “She wants to talk to you.”

“Hello?” Christy looked at me and smiled bashfully. “Uh-huh… We did… Oh, he was wonderful! They loved him… Yeah, he sort of did… No, it was really dumb. Rich was just being protective.”

“He’s a psycho killer!” I said, loud enough for Sara to hear.

“Paul, be nice,” Christy said with a glare. “He is not.”

I grinned to show her I was just teasing. I really did think Rich was dangerous, and probably a psycho killer for real, but he wasn’t unhinged or random about it.

Christy and Sara talked for another minute or two. Then Christy looked at me. “She said you can tell me about her new friend.” She listened and then grinned. “If you aren’t too chicken to let a woman tell you what to do.”

“Give me that.” I almost swiped the phone. Christy’s grin widened, and Wren had to hold back laughter. “All right, you two,” I told them, “get out of here. I don’t need three on one.”

“Hey, it’s my room,” Christy objected.

“But I thought you liked three on one,” Wren said sweetly.

I started to swing the door closed and shove them into the hall. “I’ll be done in a minute. Go back to work.”

“We’re done,” Christy said. “Now we’re tired and want to go to bed. But we’ve been waiting for the last thirty minutes.”

“You gossip like a schoolgirl,” Wren added.

“You should know,” I shot back.

She grinned impudently.

“Tell ’em to give you hell!” Sara shouted through the phone.

“Not you too,” I said.

“Sorry. Us girls have to stick together.”

“Fine. Then I’ll talk to you later.” I wasn’t upset and she could tell.

“Good luck with your new friend. Sorry to hear about Daphne, but…”

“The writing’s been on the wall with me and Daphne for a while,” she said in resignation. “But I’ll let you know how it goes with the other things.”

“All right. Take care.”

“You too,” she said. “And give the little princess a big kiss for me.”

“You can kiss her yourself,” I said. “If she’s interested.”

Christy smirked until she realized I was talking about her. Then her eyes flew wide and her cheeks darkened three shades toward crimson.

“I’ll call you next week,” I told Sara.

“Okay. Talk to you then. Bye.”

“Bye.” I hung up and faced the girls in front of me.

“I can’t believe you said that to her,” Christy said.

“What? She thinks you’re cute. Told me to give you a big kiss.”

She squawked.

“What’s the matter? Are you worried about Wren? She heard the whole thing.”

“I did,” Wren said playfully. “Every word.”

Christy’s eyes begged me to stop talking.

“Oh, relax,” I told her. “You’re a package deal. You come with a girlfriend.”

“She does,” Wren said. “Comes hard, too. I’ve done it.”

I barely smothered a laugh as Christy’s eyes threatened to bug out completely.

“Why are you upset?” I asked her. “You know I don’t mind. I mean, if Wren’s good enough for my best friend, she’s good enough for my girlfriend too.”

“Yeah!” Wren said before my words fully registered. “Hold on! You make it sound like I’m a piece of meat or something.”

“You’re a piece of awesome,” I said hastily.

“That’s better.”

Christy put her hand to her head. “I think I need to sit down.”

“Your department,” Wren said.

“Right. Consoling woozy girlfriend, bewildered by too much sexual innuendo. Can do.”

“Don’t you mean bi sexual innuendo?” Wren teased.

“Oh my gosh!”

I ushered Christy into the room and gave Wren a friendly goodnight kiss.

“We’re terrible,” she whispered. “And I owe you. Thanks.”

“Darn right you do,” I agreed in a low voice.

“Give her a kiss for me too,” she added.

“Will do. G’night.” I closed the door and turned to the little blonde.

“How could you say that?”

“Say what?”

“All of it.”

“Oh, please. You know how Wren feels. And you can deny it all you like, but I know how you feel about her. She does too. She isn’t stupid.”

“No, but… what about Sara?”

“Sara isn’t stupid either. Besides, I trust her.”

“I know, but…”

“Relax,” I said gently, and pulled her into my arms. “You might as well learn now, this is what I’m like when I’m happy and among friends. I talk about sex.” Especially when I’m not getting any.

“But what about privacy?”

“I’m a very private person. But not around you. Or Wren. Or even Sara.

Around your family? Sure. But our best friends? Why? Besides, Wren’s your girlfriend.”

“Stop saying that!”

“Why? She is.”

“No, she isn’t. I can’t have a boyfriend and a girlfriend.”

“That’s the most absurd thing I’ve ever heard. Why not?”

“I just… can’t. It doesn’t work like that.”

“Oh? That’s news to me. I should probably tell my mom. ‘Sorry, Mom, you have to choose. You can’t have a husband and a girlfriend at the same time. It doesn’t work like that.’”

“Don’t mock me,” Christy said.

I abruptly stopped when I realized she was actually upset. “You’re right,”

I said contritely. “I’m sorry.” I grabbed her desk chair and sat down. Then I gently pulled her into my lap. “I forgot about baby steps. I know this is all new to you. I shouldn’t joke about it, either.”

“No, you shouldn’t.”

“I’m sorry. Do you forgive me?”

“You know I can’t say no to you.”

“You can always say no. To me or anyone else. I hope you won’t—to me,

at least—but you can always say it.”

“But will you listen?”

“Yes.”

She waited for more, some kind of excuse or evasion. Her brow furrowed when it never came.

“I’m sorry I mocked you,” I said seriously. “And I’m sorry I teased you about Wren. I was in a good mood and I got carried away. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“Well, you did.”

“And now I’m apologizing.”

“Just like that?” she asked suspiciously.

“Just like that.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I told you, I was in a good mood, even before you and Wren popped in. I like Sara. And she likes you. She wants us to be happy.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, she’s given me some good advice about you and me.”

“Like what?”

“Like it isn’t easy being Catholic, that they put a lot of pressure on you.

Also that I need to tell you the truth about myself, that I can’t hide my past from you.”

“No.”

“And tonight… she was teasing me because I said I was wrong about you.”

“Wrong about what?”

“How I thought you were a stuck-up prude who’d never understand me.”

“I still don’t understand you.”

“Maybe not. Not yet, at least, but you’re starting to.”

She nodded.

“I just need to remember that it won’t happen overnight. And I can’t tease you about it when you don’t immediately adjust. That’s why we need to take baby steps.”

“Exactly how much do I need to understand about you?” she asked warily.

“You have no idea,” I chuckled.

“No, I don’t. And you’re starting to make me nervous.”

“Do you trust me?”

“What?”

“Do you trust me?” I repeated.

“Yes,” she said slowly.

“Okay, then trust me to tell you when I’m ready. When you’re ready too.

Okay?”

She nodded.

“In the meantime, do you trust me enough to kiss me?”

“You know I do.”

I lifted her chin and pressed my lips to hers.

“I can’t stay mad at you,” she said after.

“Well, I need to work on not making you mad in the first place.”

She nodded.

I kissed her again and lingered over the quiet touch. Unfortunately, I couldn’t stifle a yawn. I thought she’d be upset, but she yawned too.

“I’m about to fall asleep in your lap,” she admitted. “But I thought you wanted to… you know.”

“Make out?”

She nodded.

“You know how much I want to. But it’s late,” I continued. “We’ve had a long day. And we’re still taking baby steps.”

“Right. To all three.”

“So, let me kiss you a few more times, and—”

“A few?”

“Okay, maybe more than a few. One for Sara. One for Wren. And the rest for me.”

“That’s a lot of kissing,” she said. “I thought we were going to say goodnight.”

“We are. When we’re ready. Then I’ll take Mr. Good Thing—”

“Sometimes I just call him Mr. Big.” She grinned. “Like now.”

“Okay. Then I’ll take Mr. Big to bed. Alone,” I added quickly. “Although you know what I’ll be doing for a while before I go to sleep.” I chuckled as her cheeks glowed. “You’ll be doing the same thing.”

“What do you mean?”

I rolled my eyes. “You know what I mean. You know it isn’t a sin, either.”

“But it feels so good it probably should be.”

“Ha! You’re right about that.” I kissed her again. “Take care of your

small package for me.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And sweet dreams.”

“Of penises.”

“Long, hard, treacherous penises,” I said. “That might lose control if we don’t say goodnight.”

“What would happen?” she asked without a trace of innocence. “If he lost control, I mean.”

I quirked an eyebrow. “You really want to know?”

“You said there’s a lot I need to understand.”

“Tell you what,” I said with a chuckle, “while you’re playing with yourself—”

She gulped.

“—think about what you want him to do.”

“I can’t do that!”

“Sure you can.” I kissed her. “And remember, good things come in small packages.”

She half-sighed, half-whimpered.

I set her on her feet. Then I stood and brazenly adjusted my hard-on. Her eyes widened again.

“Goodnight,” I said softly. “Sweet dreams.”

“Of penises. Big ones.”

I kissed her and left while I still could.

Wednesday was a blur of projects and papers, and the four of us worked through the afternoon and late into the evening. Christy spent most of her time on the computer, proofreading and making corrections and printing out final versions of everyone’s work. In a few short days, she’d learned to use the thing better than I could.

The next morning Trip and I loaded our models into the back of the Land Cruiser and drove to the A&A building. Trip had to rush off with his, but I had a couple of hours to kill before Joska’s class. I hung out in the atrium and watched art students come and go with their own projects, everything from mixed-media sculpture to one guy who had a bright future (pun intended) as a

neo-expressionist.

When the time finally arrived for my own class, I took my model upstairs to Joska’s classroom. He was there already and nodded when I entered. He knew all about my design, although his eyebrows still rose at the sight of my model. He’d been skeptical about the roof, but I’d been coy about my visit to Jonas and his plexiglass studio.

Freddie showed up with his own project and set it on the desk next to mine. It wasn’t the best in the room, but it wasn’t the worst either, and we talked about our designs. The hubbub finally died when Joska went to the front of the room and said he was ready to begin.

We each had to give a three-minute presentation of our design. Then Joska and the class could ask questions. He went alphabetically through the roll. The first presentations were good but nothing special. Freddie’s went well, and he fielded Joska’s single question easily.

When Gracie’s turn came, she took her model to the front of the room.

She wasn’t a confident speaker, and I could tell how nervous she was. We hadn’t talked in months, but I silently wished her well.

Her design was Brutalist, which wasn’t a surprise, but it wasn’t ugly, which was. Her model used a clever mix of cylindrical towers and blocky Brutalist forms, with a bronze- and aluminum-clad façade that made it look like a modern version of a medieval fortress. I didn’t like Brutalism in general, but Gracie’s design was elegant and creative. Joska asked a couple of softball questions that made it clear he was impressed too.

My turn was next, and I couldn’t decide if it was a blessing or a curse to follow Gracie. Then I took a deep breath and thought of Rodin’s Naked Balzac. I pictured myself standing like Balzac, looking down my nose at the world. I breezed through my presentation with ten seconds to spare. Then I opened the floor for questions, and Gracie immediately raised her hand.

“Miss Fisher?” Joska said.

“What was the inspiration for your sculptures?” she asked with a gotcha smirk.

“Inspiration? It’s a museum. It needs art. So a friend made them for me.”

“You mean”—melodramatic pause for manufactured surprise—“they aren’t your own work?”

“I just said they weren’t.”

“Whose are they?” Joska asked.

“My girlfriend is a sculptor.” I returned Gracie’s fake smile with interest.

“She made them for me.”

“So,” Gracie accused, “you’re trying to pass off someone else’s work as your own?”

“I just told you, no.” I felt a rising tide of annoyance and outright hostility. “Weren’t you listening?”

“But they’re on your model.”

“Did you make the cars on yours?” I shot back. “They look like Hot Wheels. Are you trying to pass off someone else’s work as your own?”

“It’s obvious they aren’t mine,” she snapped. “Yours are—”

“That’s enough,” Joska said.

I turned to face him. “Professor, this is a design class, isn’t it? Not a model-from-scratch class? Or did I miss something in the syllabus?”

“Just so,” he agreed.

“So, does anyone have any real questions?” I pointedly ignored Gracie.

“Or are we just going to quibble over components?”

I felt guilty for downplaying Christy’s sculptures, but I was trying to make a point.

Freddie raised his hand. “I have a question. How the hell did you make that roof?”

“Mr. DeFeo,” Joska scolded, “professional language, please.”

“Sorry, Professor,” Freddie said. “How the professional hell did you make that roof?”

Wren had three exams on Friday and Trip had two. The University actually had a rule that students weren’t required to take more than two exams in a single day, but Wren hadn’t made a fuss about it.

By a quirk of scheduling, Christy and I didn’t have any, so we went to the grocery store and bought ingredients for dinner. I nearly freaked out when I saw how much fresh tuna steaks cost, but it made me appreciate how Wren turned the grocery money into so many gourmet meals.

Christy was in a good mood as we shopped. She danced through the aisles and filled our basket with more than we really needed. She didn’t seem to care how much things cost. For all her other talents—art, dance, music, languages—she didn’t pay attention to numbers at all, whether they were

money, time, or basic math.

Ah, well, I thought, she can’t be good at everything. Besides, she was really cute when she was in a good mood, so I couldn’t stay annoyed with her.

Back at home we were chopping vegetables in the kitchen when we heard Wren at the front door. I looked at my watch: almost six o’clock. Trip had only been home about thirty minutes himself. Wren came through from the dining room and stopped in her tracks. She actually rubbed her eyes and blinked at us.

Christy brandished a stalk of broccoli. “Surprise! We’re cooking dinner.”

“Oh, thank God,” Wren said tiredly. “You’re a lifesaver.”

“You want some wine?” Christy said. “Will you pour her a glass, dear?”

I hid a grin and told myself not to compare her to her mother. Not to her face, at least. I filled a glass and handed it to Wren.

She sipped first before she took a longer drink. Then she set the glass on the table and sagged to a chair in exhaustion.

“Hey, at least you’re half-finished with exams,” I said to cheer her up.

“Christy and I still have all ours left.”

“That’s something, all right,” Wren said. She put a hand to her head. “I think my brain turned to mush sometime this afternoon.”

“Dinner won’t be for an hour or so,” I said. “You wanna go soak in the tub till it’s ready?”

“Think I will.”

“Why don’t you keep her company,” I said to Christy. “Take the wine and have a little girl-time.”

“What’re you doing?” Christy asked in a whisper.

“Telling you to take care of your friend.”

“It’s okay,” Wren said. “You don’t have to.”

I gave Christy a stern look and nodded toward Wren. Do it. Now. Go.

Okay! her own look said. “Don’t be silly,” she told her. “I’d love to. I have some lavender bath oil. And I’ll wash your hair for you.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure.”

“That’d be nice. Thanks.”

I went back to work on the vegetables. Trip appeared a few minutes later and grumbled about being kicked out of his own bedroom.

“Chill, dude. Have some wine. Fresh bottle in the fridge.”

“I need something stronger.” He went to the liquor cupboard. “You want anything?”

“Sure, I guess. Whatever you’re having.”

“Right. Two Jack and Cokes, coming up.” He mixed the drinks and handed one to me. “Need to give you a heads-up,” he said after a long sip.

“Oh?”

“Wren wants to talk about New Year’s tonight.”

“Okay,” I said neutrally.

“I’ll save the longer story for dinner, but the short version is that we have a cabin in Lake Tahoe for the week after Christmas. She wants to invite you and Christy. I told her it’s up to you, but you know her.”

“That’d be a big step,” I said.

“I told her what you said, that you’re trying to take things slow, but she’s… well… ‘horny’ isn’t the right word, but it’s close enough.” He took another sip of his drink. “She misses Christy, and I know it isn’t just the sex.”

“It’s the intimacy.”

“Yeah, probably. You’d know better than I would. Oh, that reminds me.

We got together with Mark and Leah over Thanksgiving.”

My eyebrows shot up.

“I’m pretty sure Wren had been thinking about it for a while, but she sprang it on me last-minute. Kind of annoying, actually. I was tempted to say no, just to teach her a lesson. But I didn’t want another fight like we had after the wedding.” He shrugged. “Still, I need to talk to her about discussing things with me before they’re about to happen. You know?”

“Yeah.”

“Anyway,” he continued, “everything turned out okay and we had fun, but I thought you should know.”

“Why?”

“I get the feeling she’s keeping it in reserve to throw in your face if she needs to. So don’t tell her I told you. Okay?”

“Mum’s the word.”

“This may sound crazy,” he went on, “but she really wants your approval, at least about this. You know how she is. She wants to do everything herself, control everything. Drives me crazy sometimes, but…” He shrugged. “What can I say? I love her.”

“The hot sex doesn’t hurt.”

“No kidding,” he admitted with a grin. “She did fine with our little get-

together with Mark and Leah, but I get the feeling she’s trying to do the same thing with you and Christy.”

“And that won’t work. Christy isn’t Leah.”

“Not even close. So I thought I should give you a heads-up about Lake Tahoe. Give you time to come up with an excuse or something.”

I thought about it for a moment. “Okay. Thanks.”

“So…,” he gestured with his half-empty drink, “what’s for dinner?”

“Lemon-pepper tuna steaks and steamed veggies.”

“Christy’s idea?”

“Mostly.”

“Any chance you can get her to start eating meat?”

“Tuna is meat,” I said with a laugh. “So’s chicken.”

“Yeah, but I’m dying for a steak. From a cow. But Wren always fixes things that Christy will eat. I’ll be honest, it’s starting to bug me a little.”

And it bugged me that he was annoyed with my girlfriend. Still, I understood his point.

“Start a date night,” I said. “Take Wren out to a restaurant. Eat steak.

From a cow. See a movie or concert or something. Have fun.”

“That isn’t a bad idea.”

“Food for thought,” I said with a grin.

He nodded absently and then smiled. “Nice one.”

“Thanks. Now, you wanna help with dinner?”

“Not really. Think I’m gonna top off my drink and watch you.”

“Gee, some friend you are.”

We chatted as I finished the prep work. Then I joined him at the kitchen table to finish my own drink.

The girls were on the verge of tipsy when they came downstairs, but Wren looked a thousand times better, clean and refreshed. Christy avoided my eyes as she took a new bottle of wine out of the fridge. She couldn’t avoid me when I went to kiss her, though, and she realized too late that she smelled like lavender.

“If you aren’t going to help,” I said to Trip, “why don’t you and Wren take the wine and go relax for a while. Christy and I can finish everything here. Dinner in fifteen minutes?”

“Sounds awesome, dude.”

They went through the dining room and headed toward the octagon room.

The stereo started playing a moment later. Christy squeaked in surprise when

I grabbed her around the waist and lifted her to the counter. I kissed her before she could object too loudly.

“Mmm,” I breathed as I pulled back, “you smell nice.”

“Don’t act innocent.”

“Who’s acting?”

“You.”

“All right, you caught me. I was playing matchmaker with you and Wren.”

“But… why?” She shook her head with sudden irritation. “And why does everyone think it’s okay to play matchmaker with me?”

“I can’t answer the second question,” I said with a laugh, “but I can the first. It’s because I want you to be happy.”

“But… I am happy.”

“Okay, then I want you to be happi er.”

“Why can’t I be happier with just you?”

“You want the truth?”

She nodded.

“Because some people aren’t made to be happy with just one person. I think you’re one of them.”

“But I am. Happy. With you. Just one person.”

“Then tell me you don’t have feelings for Wren.”

“I don’t have feelings for Wren,” she parroted.

I gave her the full skeptic stare.

“I hate when you do that!”

“What?”

“See right through me.”

“Then don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not lying!”

“You’re lying to me and to yourself.”

“I am not.”

I twitched an eyebrow.

“I’m not.”

“This above all,” I said, “to thine own self be true.”

“And…?” she said irritably.

“It means you have to be true to who you are. And you have to be honest with yourself before you can be honest with others.” I paused to decide what to say next. “You remember a couple of months ago, when you asked why I

didn’t have a girlfriend?”

She frowned at the non sequitur but eventually nodded.

“I told you I needed to find myself first, to be happy on my own before I could be happy with someone else?”

Another nod.

“That’s what I meant. I needed to be true ‘to mine own self’ before I could be true to someone else. ‘True’ can also mean balanced. So I had to find the balance that worked for me, the truth of who I am. I guess that’s when I ‘found’ myself, if that makes sense.”

“Yes, but… what’s it have to do with me?”

“Well, I think you could be more honest with yourself. You’re starting to, and telling yourself that you don’t have to be some Catholic schoolgirl—”

“Will you quit bringing that up!”

“I’m bringing it up to say you don’t do it much anymore.”

“I never did it in the first place,” she argued.

Mr. Skeptic made an appearance.

“You know, sometimes I really don’t like you.”

“Especially when I tell you things you don’t want to hear.”

“When you tell me things that are just wrong.”

I dialed back my skepticism, but she understood that it wasn’t gone completely.

She still didn’t give in, so I braced myself with my hands on the counter and settled in to wait her out. She was trapped, both literally and figuratively, and she knew it.

“Fine,” she said at last. “I need to be honest with myself.”

“Good,” I said without a hint of smugness. “But you already are. Starting to, at least. Like I said, you aren’t trying to be—”

“Look, I see where you’re going. Again. But will you do me a favor?”

“Sure. What?”

“Will you stop saying that? I actually was a Catholic schoolgirl. I didn’t have much choice, but I kinda liked it. So pick another word. Okay?”

“Fair enough.” I thought about it for a moment. “How about madonna?”

“Uh-uh. Makes me think of Madonna, the singer. Or the Madonna, the Virgin Mary, and I’m not ready to abandon everything I believe in.”

“Good point.”

“You’re so good with words,” she said earnestly. “Just… come up with something else.”

“Gimme a sec.” I thought about and discarded several others, mostly because they were insulting. “Okay, got it,” I said at last. “How about

‘paragon of virtue’?”

“‘Paragon’ means something perfect, right?”

“Mmm hmm.”

She thought about it for a moment and nodded.

“Okay. So… back to my original point. You’re starting to be honest with yourself, because you aren’t trying to be a paragon of virtue…” I raised a questioning eyebrow.

“Perfect. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” I caught her pun and flashed a grin before I continued, “You also need to be honest about how you feel about Wren.”

“We’re just friends.”

I gazed at her steadily.

“We are!” She stomped her foot automatically, and I did my best not to laugh. The foot in question was currently about eighteen inches above the floor. She tried to hop off the counter, but I blocked her with my body.

“You’re not getting away that easily.” I boxed her in with my arms again.

“If you and Wren are ‘just friends,’ then why does your face smell like lavender?”

“I must’ve gotten some on my hands when I poured it in the bath.”

“Liar.”

“It isn’t polite to call someone that.”

“Then don’t lie.”

“You’re not going to let me go until I tell you what you want to hear, are you?”

“Not until you admit the truth.”

“Fine,” she practically spat. “Wren kissed me. Are you happy now? Is that what you wanted?”

“Yes,” I said calmly. “And yes.”

Her brow furrowed and she waited for the other shoe to drop.

I waited with her.

“You aren’t upset?” she said at last.

“No. Why would I be?”

“You’re the only one who’s supposed to kiss me.”

“Why?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” she asked semi-sarcastically.

“It’s obvious you think you can only have feelings for one person at a time. And they’re the only person who can kiss you. But that isn’t how it works. Not for some people.”

“But it does for me.”

“I don’t think so.”

“So you know me better than I know myself?”

“I think you aren’t being honest about it. I mean, what’s the difference between how you feel about me and how you feel about Wren?”

“It’s different.”

My skeptical eyebrow did its thing.

“It is. It’s totally different.”

“Does Wren make you happy?”

“As a friend.”

“Honestly? If you’re being true to yourself?”

Her eyes narrowed dangerously, a younger version of her father. “Fine,”

she said, her jaw tight. “Wren makes me happy. As… more than a friend.”

“Do I make you happy?”

“Don’t push your luck.”

I grinned and waited.

“You know you do,” she finally admitted. “Just not at the moment.”

“I can live with that. Baby steps, right?”

“Right,” she said cautiously.

“So… Wren and I make you happy. And you like kissing both of us.”

“If you say so.”

“Of course I say so. But do you say so? If you’re being honest with yourself?”

“You really want me to say it again?”

“I do.” I grinned, which made her roll her eyes.

“Fine,” she said, less petulantly. “You and Wren make me happy.”

“And…?”

She looked put-upon. “And I like kissing you. Both! There! Are you happy?”

“Yes. Now, was that so hard?”

“No,” she said, although she feigned a grimace.

“Good. So let’s end on a happy note.”

“How?”

“Well, I was hoping for sex on the kitchen table—”

Her eyes flew comically wide.

“—but I’d settle for a kiss.”

She did her best not to laugh, but her lips pursed in a grin. She compressed them and looked away.

“Uh-oh,” I teased, “now I’ve done it. Made you smile.”

“No, you didn’t. And don’t you dare call me a liar.”

“Not a chance.”

“You know, one of these days I’m going to stay mad at you.”

“You’re probably right. But we’ll deal with that when it happens.”

“How can you be so calm about all this?” she asked. “You’re slowly tearing down everything I believe.”

“I’m not tearing down. Let’s say… I’m ‘remodeling.’”

“What if I don’t like it when you’re done?”

“Then we’ll remodel some more, until we find something we both can live with.”

That took her by surprise.

“You’re changing me as much as I’m changing you,” I said.

“I doubt it.”

“Maybe you’re right. But I genuinely want you to be happy.”

“I want you to be happy too,” she said after a moment. “Which is why I put up with all your nonsense.”

“It isn’t nonsense and you know it. Now, I need to get dinner in the oven.

Can I have that kiss before I do?”

“And if I say no?”

“I’ll pout.” I suited actions to words.

She tried not to smile but eventually gave in. I fixed my expression and looked into her eyes. She gazed back, and I felt something click between us, deep and very satisfying. She must have felt it too, because she caressed my cheek.

“Sometimes I wonder what I did to deserve you,” she said, before her eyes flashed with mischief. “Then I realize I must’ve been a bad girl and you’re my punishment.”

“Ha! I’m your reward for being a bad girl.” I leaned in and kissed her.

She held my face in her hands and lingered over the touch of our lips.

After a moment I lifted her off the counter and she locked her legs around me. The little head thought sex on the kitchen table was imminent.

“Um, I hate to interrupt,” Wren said from behind me, “but are we gonna

eat any time soon?”

Christy squawked and hid her face in the hollow of my neck.

“Trip and I need to get some food in us,” Wren continued, “or we’re gonna be seriously drunk.”

“Sorry,” I laughed, “serious discussion.”

“I can see that,” she said dryly. She nodded at the broiler pan with the tuna steaks. “You want me to put those in the oven for you?”

“Would you mind? And set the timer for three minutes?”

“I have to do everything around here,” she muttered, although she wasn’t really upset. After she finished with the oven, she went to the pantry and pulled out two more bottles of wine. She put them in the refrigerator, next to the two already chilled.

“Um… that’s a lot of wine,” I said.

“And we’re a lot of wine drinkers.” She waved goodbye and returned to Trip and the music.

“Oh my gosh,” Christy said, “I can’t believe she caught us.”

“I know, right? Boyfriends and girlfriends kissing! What’ll we think of next? Sex on the kitchen table, that’s what!”

“Be that way, Mr. Sarcastic.”

I squeezed her ass and pulled her against me.

Her crotch met the muscles of my abdomen, and she closed her eyes with a sigh.

“I’m sorry… you were saying?”

“Can’t remember.”

I kissed her again.

“Okay,” she said after, “you can set me down now.”

I glanced toward the stove. “Not for another… two minutes. Till then, you’re mine!”

She rolled her eyes and suffered another kiss. Or two. Minutes.

“Okay,” I said at last, “now I really do have to put you down.”

“I’m sorry you had to do everything by yourself,” she said as I flipped the tuna.

“Nah, it’s okay.” I added the steamer insert to the pot of boiling water.

“More important for you to spend some quality time with Wren.”

“Thank you,” she said softly.

I set the timer on the stove.

She squeaked when I put my hands under her arms and lifted her into the

air, but she locked her legs around me again. I caressed her ass through her jeans and felt her tense with pleasure.

“Much better,” I said. “Now you can spend some quality time with me. At least another three minutes.”

“Three whole minutes?”

“Stop wasting time. Kiss me!”

She did.

We were still kissing when the timer went off. I reluctantly set her on her feet again.

“Want me to tell them dinner’s ready?” she asked.

“Not yet. I’m supposed to ‘rest’ the steaks, whatever that means. Let ’em cool off for five or ten minutes, I guess. Besides, the vegetables need more time too.” I grinned at her. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“More kissing?”

I furrowed my brow. “No. Sex on the kitchen table. Duh.”

“Not till we’re married.”

“Oh? So we’re playing that game again?” I nodded slowly. “I see.”

“Aren’t you going to tell me that things will happen long before we’re married?”

“Ah, right! I forgot.”

She rolled her eyes.

I grinned and leaned down to whisper, “Things are gonna happen long before we’re married. And that includes fucking you on the kitchen table.”

“Oh my gosh!”

I gave her time to imagine it. Then I spun her around and patted her bottom. “Now you can tell them dinner’s ready.”

“Yes, sir.”

“That was really good,” Wren said when she folded her napkin. “Thank you, Paul.”

“You’re welcome. It was simple. And Betty Crocker really deserves the credit.”

“Betty Crocker is actually pretty good. Besides, sometimes simple is best.”

“Whaddya lookin’ at me for?” Trip asked.

“I was going to ask you to get another bottle of wine,” she said with a laugh.

“Oh. Okay. I thought…”

“No, sweetheart,” she said earnestly, “I’ll never call you simple.

Hardheaded and obnoxious, maybe, but never simple.”

“In that case, lemme fetch another bottle of wine.” He returned a minute later and began pouring. “So, this is about the time when my scheming sweetheart gives me the sign to start a conversation. Tonight’s subject is New Year’s. Feel free to discuss.”

His scheming sweetheart looked positively perturbed.

“Hey,” he said unapologetically, “you mentioned hardheaded and obnoxious. Thought I’d live up to my reputation.” He refilled his own wineglass and sat down heavily.

He was a lot drunker than I realized. Wren and Christy were too, for that matter, while I was still nursing only my second glass.

The silence stretched out uncomfortably.

“Oh, gimme a break,” Trip told Wren. “Paul isn’t dumb. He knows it’s a setup. But this time it’s out in the open. ’Sides,” he took a sip of wine, “I told

’im about it earlier.”

That snapped her out of it. “You what?”

“Told him,” he said mulishly. “Didn’t think it was fair for you to steamroll him like that.”

“I think the trip is a great idea,” Christy said out of the blue.

I looked at her in confusion.

“What?” she said. “I love skiing. And Squaw Valley’s beautiful.”

“Hold that thought,” I told her quickly. Wren was already drawing breath for an angry jab at Trip. I sat forward and interjected myself before the situation turned ugly. “Stop, Wren. Think about what you’re going to say. I guarantee it isn’t worth it.” I turned to Trip. “She thinks you’re a wonderful guy.”

“’S not what she said,” he grumbled.

“But it’s what she really thinks.” I turned to her. “Isn’t it?”

She glared. I didn’t flinch, so she turned it up a notch.

“Lorelei Wren Hilliard,” I said mildly, “have you ever been able to intimidate me into doing what you want?”

Her glare sprouted daggers.

I calmly ignored them. “Have you?”

“No.”

“Then what makes you think now will be the first time?”

“But he—!”

“Uh-uh! We’re talking about you,” I said. “And what you meant to say was that Trip’s a wonderful guy.”

“I did not! I—”

“Wren! Pay very close attention to me. If you say whatever it is you’re thinking, you know how it’ll go. Trip’s pretty easygoing, but he isn’t a pushover.”

“Damn straight,” he said under his breath.

“And you have to admit,” I told her in a softer tone, “you weren’t very nice a minute ago.”

Christy silently shook her head.

Wren looked truculent but didn’t argue.

“And you,” I said to Trip, “didn’t have to be a jerk about spoiling her plans. Just in case you thought you were gonna get off scot-free here. Wren plays her little games, all right? We all know what they are, and they’re usually harmless. Yeah, she puts you up to things and you have to start a conversation sometimes. Is that really so bad? I mean, compared to… say…

telling you she doesn’t love you anymore and leaving with another guy?”

He jerked upright. His high school girlfriend had broken his heart when she’d done just that.

“Yeah, I remember,” I said. “So… lemme ask you again: is starting a conversation really that bad?”

“No, I guess not,” he said after a moment. “But that was a really low blow, man.”

“You’re right. But it made you stop and think, didn’t it?”

“I guess.”

“Uh-huh. And maybe for all her scheming, Wren’s the best thing that ever happened to you. Right?”

“Yeah.”

“Besides,” I added, “her scheming is because she wants her friends to be happy. I can think of a lot worse offenses than that.”

“Yeah, you’re right.”

“So maybe you can lighten up about it?”

He nodded.

“And you,” I said to her, “can maybe treat Trip like more than a glorified waiter. He’s a lot better than that asshole on the swim team you used to date.”

“A million times better,” she said with genuine contrition.

I sat back and huffed as the tension dissipated. “You two are gonna give me gray hairs before I graduate.” I grabbed my wine, drained the glass, and swiped the bottle for a refill. “I did not sign up for this shit!”

“Sorry I put you up to it,” Wren told him quietly.

“Sorry I got obnoxious and hardheaded.”

“Paul’s right. You’re pretty wonderful.”

“’Cept when I’m not.”

“But only when I make you do things you don’t want to.”

“Yeah. Sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry.”

He nodded.

She reached over and touched his hand. He turned it palm-up and clasped hers.

I breathed a long sigh of relief and glanced at Christy, who smiled and blinked back tears.

“So,” I said after a moment, “tell me about this ski trip.” I picked up my refilled wineglass and gestured at Wren with it. “Trip’s on your side.

Obviously. And you went behind my back to convince my— your— our girlfriend. Well played, by the way. What is that? Four to nothing? Five?”

“I stopped counting,” Wren said. She cleared her throat and took a long sip of wine. “Someone convinced me it was real people with real lives.”

I laughed and saluted her with my glass.

“Do you wanna tell him, sweetheart?” she said to Trip. “It’s your story.”

“Yeah, okay.” He sat forward and pushed his own wineglass aside. Then he smoothed the tablecloth as he gathered his thoughts.

The longer version of the story was that he and Wren had been discussing a ski trip since they’d first mentioned it, several weeks earlier. They’d originally been thinking Colorado and had asked his parents if they knew anyone with connections in the area. Did it have to be Colorado, his father had asked, or would anywhere do? It would, they’d said, so he’d made a call to a songwriter friend who owned a cabin in Squaw Valley, in California. The friend had offered to let Trip and Wren use it for as long as they wanted.

“The owner doesn’t mind if you bring guests?” I asked.

“Practically insisted when we told her,” he said.

“It isn’t right on the slopes,” Wren said, “but she said it’s a short walk from the resort.”

“Hey, I’m not gonna complain,” I said. “Beggars can’t be choosers.

Besides, I know how much those places cost. I’ll take ‘free’ any day.”

“No kidding,” Trip said.

“What about the sleeping arrangements?” I shot a sideways glance at Christy.

She hesitated and then nodded.

“It’s a two-bedroom cabin,” Trip said, “but the couch in the living room folds out.”

“I can live with that,” I said, and Christy nodded. “What do you think?” I asked her. “Is it too soon? I mean, that’s a pretty big step.” I could almost hear Wren hold her breath.

“I… think we can make it work,” Christy said.

“We’ll have separate beds.”

She nodded, but I caught the barest flicker of disappointment.

I smothered a smile and glanced at Wren, who winked.

“So it’s settled,” Trip said. “I’ll let the owner know.”

“And I’ll make the flight arrangements,” I told Christy.

She rolled her eyes but nodded. Then she extended a hand and took mine.

We’d just made our second major decision as a couple.

Wren and Christy each had an exam on Saturday, while I had two, including Joska’s. I hadn’t really studied, per se, but the whole quarter was basically one long study session. “Architecture is a serious business for serious people,” he claimed, and his exams were serious. I passed with flying colors.

I didn’t even need to see the grade; I just knew.

Gracie and I were both vying for the top spot in the third-year standings, and Joska himself probably didn’t know which of us would take it. It didn’t really mean anything, except for bragging rights, but my ego wanted to win.

Big time.

The girls and I spent Sunday studying. Trip shut himself in his office and worked on a take-home exam for his management class. He spent all day on it and emerged looking like he’d gone ten rounds with Sugar Ray Leonard.

On Monday morning my mom called to remind me about Erin’s birthday.

I hadn’t forgotten, but I’d been too busy to buy her a card or anything. I promised to call that evening.

“We’re taking her and Leah and two other friends to dinner,” Mom said,

“but we should be home by nine.”

“Cool. Thanks. So… you’re still getting along better?”

“Paul, I swear, she’s a different person.”

“Maybe you’re a different person too?”

“Maybe,” she said reluctantly. “Although she’s changed more than I have.”

“Well, whatever the case, I’m happy for you. Both of you.”

“Thank you.”

“Sorry, Mom, I need to go. Exams and all. I’ll call tonight and wish her a happy birthday.”

“Good luck on your exams. Love you.”

“Love you too. Bye.”

I called home later that night, and Erin and I talked like adults, which seemed weird. Part of me would always think of her as my bratty little sister, but the grown-up part realized she was a young woman instead. And that young woman was someone I enjoyed being friends with.

I had two more exams on Tuesday and then I was done. The others had finished theirs the day before. Christy had been very quiet about hers, since she only had two actual written exams. Her exhibition pieces— The Dying Replicant as well as the studies and molding process—had been her real exams in Siobhan’s classes.

On Wednesday we took a well-earned day off, but Trip and I spent the next two days working on the house, fixing and replacing things that had been bugging us for months. I floated the idea of adding an extra water heater in the attic for the third-floor bathroom, but I talked myself out of it before Trip could weigh in. My reason was purely selfish: I liked spending time in the bathroom with Christy. We hadn’t done it since the party, but I wanted to leave the option open for the future.

Trip merely chuckled when I told him why I’d decided against the new

tank. His chuckle turned into a full-throated laugh when I made him promise not to tell Wren. She was smug enough already as it was.

He and I spent Saturday morning with Sayuri and the plans for her second house. It was a more ambitious project than the first one, which had only been a four-apartment conversion. The second house was originally built in the 1930s as a boarding house. It was a little out of place with its Victorian neighbors, looks-wise, and it didn’t have the charm and craftsmanship. Still, it was a great location for student apartments.

The plans would gut the house to the studs and rebuild completely. The first floor would have four small one-bedroom apartments, while the second was designed with four efficiency apartments, each with a bathroom and kitchenette. In addition, every apartment would have its own entrance, which meant adding a rear balcony and exterior stairs for the second-floor efficiencies.

While Trip and Sayuri pored over the budget and construction schedule, I leafed through the drawings. They included the original house plans as well as the new designs. The renovation was ingenious, and I got a surprise when I looked at the architect’s stamp and signature.

“He” was a she, and I made a mental note to remember her and the company she worked for. I’d eventually have to find an internship, and I wanted to work with this woman, especially if her mind was anything like her designs.

We toured the house itself after we went over the plans, but it was early in the schedule and the crew hadn’t done much more than demolition. The house had good bones—things like hardwood studs that actually measured two inches by four—but it would take a lot of work to realize the architect’s vision. Trip and I promised Sayuri we’d keep an eye on it through the holidays and into the new year.

I received a call from my mom a few days later. It didn’t last long, and I was still holding my notepad when Christy stuck her head through the open door.

“Hey. Who was on the phone?”

“Huh?”

“Who was on the phone?”

“Oh, sorry. My mom.”

“Is everything okay?” She stepped into the room.

“Yeah, sure,” I answered immediately. “I mean… no, not really.”

“Is she okay? Your dad? Erin?”

“They’re fine,” I assured her. “A… friend of the family. He… died.”

“Oh my gosh. I’m so sorry. Who was it?”

I took a deep breath and blinked to clear my eyes. I sank to my bed, and Christy sat next to me. I showed her the notepad and she read the name.

“Gunny? Was he a Marine?”

“Yeah. Friend of my father’s. My mom said it was a heart attack.”

“I’m so sorry, Paul. When’s the funeral?” She read from the pad again.

“Saturday at ten.”

“Yeah.”

“What do we need to do?”

I shook my head to clear my thoughts. “My dad’s on a trip and doesn’t know if he’ll make it back to Atlanta in time. So I told my mom I’d pick her up on Friday.”

“Okay. Are we driving?”

“No, flying. The funeral’s in South Carolina.”

“Oh. Okay. When do we leave?”

“Leave? We? What’re you talking about? You don’t have to go.”

She smiled. “Of course I do. I’m your girlfriend.”

“But… you didn’t even know him.”

“I’m not going for him,” she said softly. “I’m going for you.” She pulled my hand into her lap and simply held it.

“Oh.”

We sat in silence for a long time.

I felt a profound sense of relief that Christy would be with me, but then I realized what that meant: I’d have to tell her about camp, sooner rather than later.