CHAPTER FORTY-ONE HIM

We had only just sat down to dinner when Arielle placed one of her spray-tanned, acrylic-tipped hands across her flat stomach and said, “No wine for me, thanks. Tag and I are expecting again.” Both of my parents leaped from their chairs with the kind of enthusiasm they reserved exclusively for congratulating inseminated daughters-in-law and began lavishing attention on Arielle, who basked in it. At one point, I swear my mother was petting her like she was some sort of prized cat. I muttered a halfhearted “Congratulations” to Tag and stabbed a fork into my endive salad.

I should have been grateful that Arielle was commanding all the attention, leaving no one to harass me about my love life, but it was a Pyrrhic victory. Pregnant Arielle was even more insufferable than nonpregnant Arielle. She acted as though she were some sacred vessel, even though I and everyone else in the room knew that Arielle was not the only woman to carry Tag’s progeny. It was an open secret that our father had given Tag’s high school girlfriend an undisclosed sum of money to go away and pretend the baby wasn’t his. It was nausea inducing.

I tuned them out, hoping I could just get through one dinner unscathed.

And then I heard Arielle’s voice, dripping with fake sweetness, ask me, “How are things going with your secret girlfriend, Peanut?”

I glared at Arielle. Her innocent act was such bullshit. My fingers itched to close around my steak knife, to lunge across the table and jam it through the exposed orange flesh of her neck. I could imagine her eyes widening in surprise as the blade plunged in, could almost hear the sound of her skin ripping as I dragged the serrated edge downward. Everyone would back away in shock, and no one would ever, ever interrogate me about my dating habits again.

“Yeah,” Tag added. “How are things going? Did you ever take my advice to send her flowers?”

Without meaning to, I burst out laughing.

Simon and Tag exchanged a look.

I composed myself and said, “As a matter of fact, yes, I did.”

“That’s great,” Simon said. “What did she say?”

“She definitely took notice.”

“So what’s the harm in telling us about her?” Arielle pressed. She threw a look at Leigh and added, “Is it someone we already know?”

I pressed my lips into a thin line, and Arielle laughed. “Is that a yes?”

Leigh cut her pale eyes at Arielle and shook her head. Sometimes, when I imagined slicing open every one of their worthless torsos and stringing their entrails along the banister like a festive garland, I spared Leigh. She was the only one of the lot with a single kind bone in her body.

I turned my attention back to my dinner, keeping my face tilted to my plate and chewing diligently, and eventually they moved on to other topics that weren’t me. It didn’t take long. Narcissists can’t help but talk about themselves.