Page 171 of Hot Mess
I didn’t even try to get a word in unless I was directly asked a question.
They were curious about me, at first, and peppered me with questions for a while. But they soon seemed to forget I was here.
Most of the time, they all talked about themselves—at the same time, right over one another.
Except for Danica and her shy-ish cousin Jolie. They were the only ones who actually breathed between sentences, and they were definitely the most reserved of the lot.
Though they both got a little looser with their words after several mimosas.
Seriously, at one point they all definitely forgot I was here or just didn’t care, and started talking about their periods. Or Jolie’s period, specifically. Apparently she was late, and her mom was now tracking the days.
“Relax, mom,” Jolie kept saying. “I told you, I’m not knocked up.”
“We’ll see,” her mom said.
“It’ll be fine,” Charlotte said. “I’m late all the time. Maybe it’s hereditary. You know, we both get the killer cramps…”
“You need to start taking arnica for that,” Danica’s mom informed them. “I keep telling you so.”
And on and on they went.
Chick talk.
If there wasn’t so much booze flowing and the caterers didn’t keep serving up all the amazing food, I might’ve tried to slink away and find a TV somewhere to turn on. But the spread on the table kept me where I was. Just barely.
Well, that and the beautiful girl sitting next to me.
At least she seemed aware of the fact that this was bizarre for me. Not only was I unaccustomed to being the only sausage at a formal pie party, but I really didn’t have much family. I wasn’t used to so many people all wanting—no,expecting—to weigh in on each other’s business.
I was kind of a loner that way.
Always had been.
Danica kept throwing me apologetic looks whenever her sister and the uptight aunt got arguing, which happened a lot. Or shoveling food onto my plate when anyone remembered I was here and started cross-examining me about my tattoos or music or general male opinion about things, which happened occasionally. Or topping up my drink when someone started talking about sex or shoes or tampons.
Yes, they talked about tampons. Something about organic cotton.
I tuned out at that part.
Eventually the caterers started clearing away the food and we all broke away from the table. Danica led me into a sunroom at the back of the house that was flooded with light from the high glass walls. It led out to a gorgeous yard with a pool.
And there wasmore food.
The caterers had laid out a dessert spread by the windows, courtesy of the baking aunt. They also brought out coffee, liqueurs, more champagne and hard liquor.
Danica and I headed over to the dessert table to help ourselves, and she asked me, “Having fun?” She was grinning, ear-to-ear.
Maybe it was amusing to her that I was actually putting up with this.
“Never had more fun in my life.”
“Liar.”
“Honestly,” I said, “the food’s great. And your family is … entertaining.”
“Thanks. They are that.”
Just then, her family started spilling into the sunroom, still talking. Some of them had changed into swimwear.
