Page 72 of The Favorite Sister

Jen looks at me. “Where’s Arch?”

“She’s going to come out tomorrow,” I say. “Stuck at work.”

Jen nods, running a finger along the steel plane of the knife.

“May I offer you a beverage?” Lauren asks us formally, trying to be funny.

“Whatever you’re having,” Kelly makes the mistake of saying.

“I’m having club soda,” Lauren says laughably, “but we have a bottle of Sancerre chilled.”

Bottlesof Sancerre, it appears, as she tugs open the refrigerator. Sancerre and Tito’s and Casamigos and a carton of almond milk that’s been turned on its side to make room for more booze. Lauren shuts it quickly, before the camera responsible for the wide shot tells on her.

On the stove, a pot boils over. “Want me to...?” Kelly offers, heading for the utensils holder by the sink. She lifts the lid and something puke-colored spits at her. My stomach grumbles. I haven’t eaten since noon and I need a real meal, not a mushy plate of ancient grains.

“Oh!” Jen cries, like she just remembered something. She steps around Kelly and brings out a platter of chips and dip. “I picked up that guac I know you like from Round Swamp, Brett.”

Kelly gives me a little smile over her shoulder.See! She isn’t so bad!

Kelly still doesn’t know about Jen’s middle-of-the-night conversation with Vince, on the balcony of the riad in Marrakesh, or about my suspicions that he is the one who broke her heart last season. I tried just that once, the morning of the accident. Then came that nightmare of a day, and my focus was on damage control for SPOKE. After speaking with my shareholders and having a lawyer review my partnership agreement with Kelly, I figured she was infor enough of a kick. No need to add insult to injury by telling her that Jen was only pretending to be her friend to find out if she was having an affair with Vince, because she might still be in love with Vince herself. Let Kelly believe the friendship was real. Who could it hurt?

Jen wipes her hands on an apron that readsViva Las Vegans!“So. The plan for tonight is dinner, then Lauren has organized some bachelorette games—”

Lauren blows into a party horn, immediately whisperingSorrywhen Jen glares at her for interrupting.

“And then, I don’t know?” Jen continues, using the base of her wide knife to rough-chop raw walnuts for the salad. “Maybe Talkhouse if everyone is up for it?” She glances up, mischievously, and for a moment she is not the drippiest drip I know. Jen can be fun when the cameras are not around, and Talkhouse is the fraternity rager you go to after having dinner with your family when they’re in town for parents’ weekend. The network has never been able to obtain the permit necessary to film there, which means everyone can take as many shots of piss-colored tequila as they’d like without record.

“You are here until eleven,” Lisa squeaks from behind the camera. It’s like a reverse curfew—we have to stay home until a certain time, deliver some decent footage, and then we get to go out and paint the town red.

“Yes, Mom,” both Lauren and Jen say at the same time.

“Call me that again and you’re fired,” Lisa says, touching the drooping skin on her neck. “And for the love of God, someone bring up the elephant in the room.”

Jen sets down her knife and inquires with over-performed concern, “Has anyone heard from Steph?”

We all pooch our lips—No.

“What about Vince?” I don’t look directly at Jen at first, so as not to be obvious, but when I do, I find she’s picked up the knife again and is chopping those nuts into sawdust.

“Iheard,” Lauren hinges at the waist and sets her elbows on thecounter, chin in hands, voice gossipy, “she served him with divorce papers but he’s refusing to sign.” She rubs her thumb and three fingers together, indicatingmoney. “He gets nothing in the prenup.”

There is a glitch in my heartbeat. “She’s divorcing him?” Steph divorcing Vince means that she no longer cares enough to keep up the façade of their happy marriage. It means she can go public about the things that happened in that house, if she wants to.

Lauren smirks at me. “Don’t sound so surprised. You of all people should be well aware the wheels had fallen off that marriage.”

I feel like I swallowed Jen’s big butcher knife. I need to stop doing that—giving Lauren openings to contribute winky commentary to further the Brett and Stephanie lesbian affair storyline.

“Brett.” Jen turns to me in a way that makes me think she’s about to accuse me of something. My breath catches in my throat. “I made up the downstairs guest bedroom for you and Arch. Laur and Kelly, you’re in the upstairs guest room.”

I exhale and steal a glance at Kelly. Disappointment streaks her face that Jen doesn’t want to share a room with her again. It’s because Jen no longer feels like she’s got some detective work to do on Kelly, but Kelly doesn’t realize that.

“Thanks, Jen.” I give her a warm smile. In this group, niceness is power-saving mode, and I may need to reserve my strength too. Hoisting my weekend bag higher on my shoulder, I say, “I’m just going to drop my stuff in my room and freshen up.”

“Dinner in fifteen!” Lauren calls after me, my buddy once again.

I take my time in the hallway, waiting for the conversation to resume before quickly opening the door to the garage and stepping inside. I hit the switch on the wall and blink a few times, my eyes adjusting slowly. Things used to scatter when you turned on the light in here. There were beach chairs and old bikes and pool toys, plenty of cobwebby places for creatures to hide. All that’s left in the garage after the gut is a collage of fuse boxes on one wall and the old popcorn-textured refrigerator that never kept anything cold. Itlooks like a fossil humming next to Jen’s new metallic Tesla, charging from the flank. I yank open the freezer door and angels sing when I discover long-expired bagels and pizza inside.

“I’ll be back for you later,” I whisper, before turning off the light.