by Max Monroe
Seriously, I swear I’m not actually plotting Reed Luca’s murder.
Fantasizing about him just disappearing to a safe place where he wasn’t injured but couldn’t bother me? Yes.
But actual murder? No.
“Okay, I’ve had enough,” Annie announced and dropped her napkin onto the table. “What’s going on, Lola? Even for you, you’re acting weird, and that’s saying something.”
“Nothing,” I lied.
“Lola, honey, you seem a little upset,” my mother added. “Are you sure everything is okay?”
“A little upset, Deb?” my dad chimed in. “Our daughter just took half the bowl of mashed potatoes, and now she appears to be performing some sort of satanic ritual on your baked chicken. Which is delicious, by the way,” he added with a mouthful of half-eaten poultry as proof.
“What’s a salantic ritual?” Lucy, my youngest niece, asked.
“Just a little something adults do when they’re thinking about taking a cruise, Luce,” Brian, my brother-in-law, answered.
“Ohh!” Emma, my oldest niece, exclaimed. “I want to do a salantic ritual!”
“You have to get it approved by the president first, sweetheart,” Brian responded, and Annie rolled her eyes. Her husband always used the most ridiculous scenarios to get out of difficult conversations with their kids. And “getting approval from the president” was one of his go-tos.
Emma wants a puppy? Sorry, sweetie, but we have to get the president’s approval first.
Henry wants to download the Pokémon Go app to his iPod? Sorry, buddy, but that has to go through Congress first.
Annie and Brian’s kids currently had 300 pending approvals from the United States government.
“Seriously, Lola, stop stabbing the chicken. It’s weird,” Annie said and I glared at her.
“If I want to stab my chicken, I’ll stab my chicken. You’re not the boss of me.”
Annie pointed her fork in my direction. “I’m about to stab you.”
My mother clapped her hands twice. “Girls!”
Uh-oh, Deb was getting angry. If her claps were the equivalent of a traffic light, we’d reached the yellow light seconds before it turned red.
“I want to stab someone!” Henry shouted.
“Gotta get that approved by the president first, buddy.”
Oh. My. God. I was one Annie glare and Brian “president approval” comment away from my brain exploding.
“Spill it, Lola,” my dad demanded. “Tell your sister what’s going on before she starts talking with that awful, high-pitched shrieking noise none of us can stand.”
“Dad!” Annie screeched. “I do not sound like that!”
My dad winced. “For the love of God, tell your sister why you’re currently showing homicidal tendencies toward your dinner before my eardrums burst.”
“Fine.” I slammed my hands down onto the table. “I hate Reed. I mean, I really, really hate him. “
“Everyone hates weeds, Lo.”
“Not weeds, Dad,” I corrected with a sigh. “Reed. He’s an actual person, not vegetation. Reed Luca. He is trying to ruin my life.”
Annie’s brow furrowed. “Wait…is this that guy who posted the YouTube video about your column?”
My eyes nearly bugged out of my head. “You saw that?”
“Pretty sure everyone saw that,” she retorted. “It has, like, ten million views.”
“It has ten million views now?” Now it was my turn to screech, and the fact that my dad was covering his ears proved I was doing it effectively.
“It was up to twelve million when I watched it,” Brian added.
“Are you talking about that video with the handsome boy who doesn’t like Lola’s column?” my mother asked before tsking, “Though, that smoking is an awful habit.”
“Yep,” Annie kindly answered to keep this topic of conversation going.
Seriously, sometimes sisters were a huge pain in the ass.
“Oh, when I watched it on your dad’s laptop, it was up to fifteen million views,” my mom said with a smile. “I can’t believe my little Lola is so popular that she’s getting videos made about her.”
“Mom,” I said through gritted teeth. “He wasn’t saying nice things about me in his video.”
“I’ll be honest,” she responded, and her cheeks started to flush pink. “I had a hard time focusing on what that boy was saying. His eyes are just so…blue.”
My eyes narrowed. “Are you blushing?”
“No.” She waved me off with her hand. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Oh my God, Mom!” I exclaimed and promptly removed my butter knife from my chicken and pointed it in her direction. “You’re blushing! Over a guy who posted a YouTube video about how much he hates my column.”
“Well…he’s really handsome, sweetie. Maybe you should try to go out with him. Some of the best love stories start off with the two people not liking each other.”
I rolled my eyes. “Mom, You’ve Got Mail doesn’t count. It’s a movie. One that you’ve seen no less than one hundred times.”
It needs to be noted now that my mother, Deb Sexton, has a habit of acting like her favorite romantic comedies are real-life love stories.
If she ever tells you about a story that sounds a lot like The Notebook, it is actually just her telling you about The Notebook.
As much as she wishes she knew Noah and Allie, she doesn’t.
“I just love that Tom Hanks so much,” my mother announced on a dreamy sigh.
“He’s on your mom’s list,” my dad added, far too comfortable with the idea of my mom having a list.
Annie’s head tilted to the side in confusion. “Wait…What list?”
I couldn’t stop the huge smile that had taken up residence on my face if I tried. My sister had officially just redirected the conversation toward a topic she would soon regret.
“Her list of famous people she can have s-e-x with if she ever meets them,” my dad answered with ease.
“What?” Annie shrieked.
He nodded proudly. “I have a list, too.”
“Stop!” Annie shouted and covered both of her ears with her hands. “Please, stop before I vomit.”
“Who else is on your list, Mom?” I asked sweetly, and Annie discreetly flipped me the middle finger. This was like killing two birds with one stone. It was the perfect opportunity to keep the topic of conversation far away from Reed Luca while allowing me to torture Annie.
“Umm…Leonardo DeCapricorn and Benedict Cumbersome.”
I hoped to God my mom actually learned these guys’ names before she got to bone them.
“Don’t forget Hugh Bradford,” my dad chimed in.
“Oh, yeah!” Deb clapped her hands excitedly. “Hugh Bradford is on that list, too.”
Annie’s face scrunched up. It was equal parts confusion and disgust. “Hugh Bradford is the butcher on Market Street, Mom.”
“I know,” she said with a far too happy smile. “He’s a very famous butcher, Annie. Everyone in San Francisco loves him.”
“But you actually know him, Mom. Like, you know him. You buy meat from him. Weekly.” The vein in Annie’s forehead had made its first appearance of the night, which meant she was about two seconds away from spontaneous combustion or stroking out from mortification.
“I know.” My mother waggled her eyebrows, and my father just chuckled in amusement.
Holy hell, had my parents just insinuated they’re swingers?
“Oh. My. God,” Annie groaned. “Someone change the subject before I pass out from discomfort.”
“You’re thinking exactly what I’m thinking aren’t you, Annie Bananie?” I asked, my expression morphing into glee.
“Don’t say it,” she said through gritted teeth.
My grin grew wider. “Mom…Dad…do you guys like to swing?”
My mom just winked in response.
“I love to swing!” Emma exclaimed.
“Me too!” Lucy a
dded. “Mommy, can we swing like Grandma and Grandpa?”
“Yeah…okay…” Annie got up from the table. “I’m finished.”
“Can I get up from the table, too, Daddy?” Henry asked.
“You have to get the president’s approval to leave the dinner table before everyone is finished eating, buddy.”
Henry’s face fell into disappointment. “But Mommy got up.”
“Annie, did you get the president—” Brian started to ask but was quickly cut off by my sister pointing a finger in his direction.
“Don’t even say it, or I will murder you in your sleep,” she whispered.
Brian just laughed it off.
“So, Lola,” my dad started, “was it just the video that ticked you off or something else?”
Ugh. And here I thought I had managed to avoid this topic entirely.
Of course, Annie’s ears perked up, and she found her way back to her seat. I swear, Nosy Nancy could hear better than most canines.
“Well…” I paused on a sigh. “Reed Luca has accepted a position with the San Francisco Journal. He’ll be writing an opposing column to mine.”
Annie’s jaw nearly hit the table. “What a di—not nice guy.”
“Oh, believe me, it gets worse,” I responded in annoyance. “He decided to hand-deliver this week’s opposing column to my doorstep today.”
Her mouth popped open in surprise. “He showed up at your apartment?”
“Yep.”
“Is he a psychopath?” Annie asked with narrowed eyes. She was just as pissed off about this as I was. I guess sisters weren’t always a pain in the ass.
My mother tsked. “There’s no way a man with those blue eyes could be a psychopath.”
“Mom!” I groaned. “Could you forget about your little fangirl crush for just a second to do the normal supportive thing and say bad things about Reed Luca with me? I mean, you’re my mother. You should be raking his name through the mud to show your support.”
I couldn’t deny the man had the most intense, striking eyes I’d ever seen. Hell, if I never had to hear him babble existential bullshit, I’d consider keeping him around just to lose myself in them.
But that was beside the point. Beautiful blue eyes, sexy smile, perfect hair, kissable lips…they were inconsequential when their owner was a certified asshole.
“Do I need to kill him?” my father asked, like it was the most normal thing in the world to discuss murder.
“Uh…I think that might be a little overboard,” I refuted. “But…if you’ve got any ideas on how to make him disappear that doesn’t involve homicide, I’m all ears.”
“Well…there’s kidnapping and sending him to a remote island.”
“Harry,” my mother voiced her disapproval regarding illegal kidnappings.
My dad flashed a knowing look in her direction. “Oh, like you wouldn’t be asking me to drop you off with him.”
“Eww, Dad,” Annie chastised.
“Don’t get pissed at me. Your mother’s the pervert, not me.”
My mother grinned. “I’d prefer to use the term cougar.”
Annie rested both elbows on the table and put her head in her hands. “Oh my God, Mom. You’re not a cougar.”
“Your father is two years younger than me.”
“That doesn’t count,” my sister muttered into her palms.
“Counts in my book, Deb.” My father winked. “You’ll always be a sexy cougar in my eyes.”
“Can we get back to me?” I questioned in frustration. “I mean, you should all be bashing Reed right now. That’s what a good family would do.”
“Oh, right. Sorry, sweetheart,” my dad apologized. “If you want me to kill that little prick, I’ll kill him. And I’m sure his column will be a shitheap of nonsense compared to yours.”
“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.