All I can do is stare at Joe/Seph. His face is all bricked up. A cold, icy demeanor I’ve never seen on him before. It makes him look unlike Joe, which I understand is an idiotic thing to think. I don’t even know him. Maybe that’s his usual face. Maybe he always looks like he wants to punch his way through a crowd.
Oh, God. I need to throw up.
“Babe? Are you okay?” Dom rubs soothing circles over my back, frowning.
I nod weakly, forcing myself to snap out of it.
“Yes . . . yes! Sorry, I’m Everlynne.” I reach to shake Mr. Graves’s hand first. I cannot process what he looks like. Tall, I assume, since I have to extend my neck to smile up at him. There’s a mustache and a cardigan, too, behind the blurry cloud of panic forming in front of my eyes. The only thing that seems to be on portrait mode, sharp as a razor, is Joe’s face.
“Hello.” Mr. Graves is curt. Nothing like his human ball of sunshine of a wife. “I’m Brad. Nice of you to join us.”
Nice of you to create my entire dating history.
Next, I turn to Joe. He is still looking at me with something between sheer indifference and confusion. I’m weak at the knees. Of all the scenarios I’ve run in my head about what would happen if we ever met again, this situation has never come up. Rightly so. This is torture. The stuff nightmares are made of.
I tentatively reach for his hand. I’m shaking. My palm is clammy. I feel like a prisoner who’s been caught trying to escape their cell. Our skins touch. I nearly jolt. His hand is warm and dry. Big. His eyes are on mine. Blue and cool and utterly unreadable.
“Lynne, right?” Joe/Seph drawls. The first words to come out of his mouth. His voice cracks through me like whiplash. He remembers. Oh my God.
“And you are Seph?” I ask pointedly, gathering my wits.
“That’s what my family calls me.” He is polite, but he’s by no means the same guy who kissed me six years ago like the world was ending. “Drive was good?”
“Sure.”
He turns to his dad, seemingly done with our conversation. “I’m getting a Guinness.”
“Make it two, punk.” Brad chuckles.
“Anything for you, D?” Joe/Seph asks, jerking his chin toward his older brother. Dom shakes his head, watching the two of us alertly. He must’ve picked up on the off vibes between us. “I’m saving myself for the eggnog. I’m trying to convince Lynne to have some.”
“Not in this lifetime, buddy.” I smile. My cheeks feel as stiff as clay.
“Why don’t we all get a drink? I’m sure Lynne could use a glass of something too.” Gemma herds us all into the kitchen.
I can’t stop myself this time. “It’s Everlynne. Or Ever. Dom’s the only one who calls me Lynne, really.” I don’t know why I’m telling them this. It’s not like this would win Joe over. And it’s not like there’s anything to win over. I’m with his brother now. Case closed.
And then it hits me. I slept with his brother. I slept with two brothers, six years apart. They make up 66.67 percent of my sexual partners. Since the only other partner I’ve slept with was Sean.
I guess you could say you’re a Graves digger, I hear Pippa cackling in my head. Pippa. I want to call and tell her what I’ve just found out. I need her advice.
It doesn’t help that Joe and I could have technically been together right now. That I cut it off suddenly, viciously. After I came back from Spain, we texted every day, all day. The last text exchange we had was unassuming. I still remember it by heart.
Joe: Thinking of cutting my trip short.
Ever: Interesting.
Joe: Is it?
Ever: I mean, I’m sure your family misses you.
Joe: And they’ll have me, for a day and some change. Then I’m heading west.
Ever: Goldrush?
Joe: Better than gold. See, there’s this girl.
Ever: There’s always a girl. Tell me more.
Joe: She is hot, she is into rad music, and she gets me.
Ever: Does she have a name?
Joe: Yes.
Joe: Mainstream.
Ever: LOL. I hate you.
Joe: While we’re on the subject of feelings, well, hold onto your butt cheeks, because I have a confession to make.
He started typing more, but I never saw what he wrote. I never replied.
Now the device I used to talk to him with is sitting at the bottom of the Pacific Ocean, collecting rust and seaweed.
And I’m sitting right here, with a strange family, celebrating Mom’s absolute favorite holiday away from home.
Back in reality, we settle at the table. It is laden with sweet potato and fruitcake pies as well as wine and beer. “Just to nudge your appetite in the right direction before dinner.” Gemma’s church bells laughter rings through the warm, decorated room. I opt for wine and drain the first glass before the pies are cut. Dom silently pours me another one, throwing me a worried look. I have to keep myself together. But every time I glance Joe’s way, he is staring at me with what I’m beginning to recognize as awe and confusion, nursing his bottle of Guinness.