Page 29 of Revenge Cake

Feeling triumphant, I lean in and plant a hard kiss on that smile.

***

Leilani

This dinner feels interminable, and we’ve only just finished appetizers. I hate being forced to recite boring autobiographical details like I’m telling a riveting story. Thank god Logan seems to have taken on the role of my social buffer.

I don’t know how someone so perceptive and attentive could have come from this family. John barely seems aware of anything, and Helen’s entirely focused on herself. Lauren, at least, seems to be interested in other people, however little she cares about embarrassing them with her candor.

“I know exactly what you’re thinking right now,” Lauren says, apparently sensing my gaze on her face. “Logan is the better-looking twin, huh? It’s okay. I’ve come to terms with it.”

I force a smile, not having any idea how to answer such a question.

“There’s always a better-looking twin,” she continues. “And it’s a tragedy, really, because it’s the first thing on everyone’s mind when they meet you. Their eyes go straight to my nose and they’re always thinking, ‘Oh, you poor thing!’”

I glance at Logan for help, but he doesn’t seem to think that anything is amiss with this conversation. Looking back at Lauren, I force a friendly smile. “I thought fraternal twins didn’t share any more DNA than regular siblings.”

Lauren’s mouth opens in surprise. “She’s smart, Logan!” Immediately turning back to me, she adds, “It’s not that I’m surprised, but we have met a wide spectrum of women over the years. Every time we visit Santa Barbara, he has a new girlfriend—”

“Hey!” Logan shouts. “Stop what you’re doing right now.”

Lauren waves a dismissive hand in Logan’s direction, but she keeps her eyes on me. “Oh, like she hasn’t heard it a million times from every single person who knows you. Am I right, Lani?”

I smirk, looking apologetically at Logan before saying, “Yes, I’ve heard some things.”

“I don’t care what she’s heard! Keep your mouth shut. This isn’t story time.”

Her eyes grow wide as she leans in closer to me, lowering her voice. “Oh my god! I have so many stories! When we go to the bathroom together, I’ll tell you some.”

“No you won’t,” Logan says.

Lauren ignores him. “Since our time will be limited, I need to think of some of the best ones.” She lowers her voice. “Did you hear about how Brittani keyed ‘fuckboy’ into his Prius? It was actually my dad’s Prius, which just makes it so much better—”

Lauren stops when Helen interrupts. “Leilani,” she says with a mischievous smile, “if you want stories about Logan, you should ask me.”

My smile planted on my face, I turn to Helen. “I’d love to hear about when Logan was little.” It’s not a total lie either. I do want to know what he was like as a little boy. I just wish I wasn’t in the position of having to laugh if her story isn’t funny. When I glance at Logan’s face, he has a smile of such warmth, my heart clenches. Guilt gnaws over my lack of total sincerity.

“He was a beautiful little boy,” Helen says. “You think he’s cute now, you should have seen him when he was little. Everywhere we went—the grocery store, Disneyland—people were always commenting on it. One time someone even asked to take a picture of him, which of course I said ‘no,’ because…” She cringes, and yet that ghost of a smile still plays at her lips. “That’s weird.” After swirling her wine in front of her, she takes a small sip. “My friends were always hounding me to get a modeling agent for him, but I don’t believe in doing that to my children. When they’re that little they can’t really give you their consent. Plus, I didn’t want to exclude Lauren. She never could have modeled with the Henderson nose.”

“Thanks, Mom,” Lauren says, clearly annoyed but also underwhelmed enough that this is likely the kind of thing that Helen says regularly.

“Maybe I made the wrong decision though. Who knows?” Helen looks at Logan, smiling affectionately. “Maybe you’d be an actor now. Or something.”

“Probably not, Mom,” Logan says.

Helen only smiles and takes a sip of her wine. I stare at her, waiting for the punch line of her “story.” When it doesn’t come, I speak without thinking. “That wasn’t really a story.”

When the table goes quiet, I recognize my rudeness. Heat creeps into my neck, and my armpits start to tingle from the gathering sweat. I take a deep breath before speaking again. “I just mean I wanted to hear what he was like when he was little.”

Helen nods profusely, obviously feeling awkward for me by proxy. “Sure, sure, sure. Um…” She purses her lips to the side, narrowing her eyes as she stares out into space. The look reminds me of Logan. He favors her more than his dad. I wonder if Helen was once as beautiful as Logan, and that’s why she seems so vain about beauty that isn’t her own.

“He’s always been my mama’s boy. Always a good kid. I could tell you about a thousand stories about Lauren getting into trouble, but not a single story about Logan. He could definitely talk our ears off though, right, John?” She doesn’t wait for John to answer. “He used to follow me around the house talking about everything under the sun. His comic books. Things that happened with his little friends at school. Whatever episode of SpongeBob he just watched. You know, things that adults find super interesting. Headphones were a necessity if I needed to get anything done around the house.” And with that she breaks off into a light chuckle.

She looks at Logan, who’s smiling abashedly. “Obviously, I should have started a podcast.”

I’m not sure if it’s just my predisposition to dislike Helen, but even knowing her “story” was told in jest, I hate it. I hate it so much that in the moment I feel like I hate her too, and Logan’s deprecating response only fans my fire.

Indignation loosening my tongue, I make an impulsive move. “That’s kind of mean,” I say. “I think kids are boring too, but I hope I’ll actually listen to my own when they talk. Instead of tuning them out with headphones.”

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