Page 51 of I Can't Even

“Aunt Jules, I have a question,” Harry said.

“If it’s birds and bees stuff, ask your mom,” I said.

The twins blanched. I almost laughed, knowing that Soph hadn’t been exaggerating about her sex talk PowerPoint. I unlocked the car and we all piled in, Hannah and me in front and Harry in the back.

“No,” Harry said. “This is family stuff.”

“Okay, shoot,” I said. I started the car and backed out onto the road. I saw Babs’s urn sitting on the window ledge per her request. I felt a surge of resentment that she could still manipulate all of us from behind the veil but I shook it off. I was on a mission tonight and could not afford to get distracted.

“If Gram wasn’t your mom, are we still, like, as related as we used to be?”

I flinched. I hadn’t seen that one coming. My voice when I spoke was fierce. “Yes! Of course! Your grandfather was my dad and your mom’s and Aunt Em’s, too, so yes, absolutely we’re still blood. Why do you ask?”

“Cousin Paisley came by the house,” Harry said. Hannah swiveled around from the front passenger seat to glare at him in the back, but he squared his shoulders and kept going. “She was trying to get Mom and Dad to cut you out of the will since you’ve been gone for so long and ‘cause you’re not really Gram’s daughter.”

I felt all of the blood drain out of my head into the pinched toes of my boots. My temples contracted with rage, but I took a deep breath through my nose and cleared my throat.

“What did your mom say?” I asked.

Hannah burst out laughing and said, “She told her to fuck off.”

“Hannah!” I cried.

“She did.” Harry grinned. “That’s a direct quote. It was pretty epic.”

I tucked my smile into my cheek. If Soph was here, I’d have squeezed the stuffing out of her. “Then what happened?”

“Paisley was butt hurt and stormed off,” Harry said. “And then Dad lit into Mom for her language and for not being polite to Paisley. It got rough.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “Long marriages go through growing pains. It could be that’s what’s happening with your parents.”

“Yeah, maybe.” Harry sounded doubtful.

I reached back and patted his knee. “Don’t worry. Like I said, I’ll keep an eye on your mom.”

“Cool.” He nodded and his shaggy blond hair covered his face.

I couldn’t believe Soph hadn’t told me about Paisley. I supposed she figured I had enough on my plate given that I was dealing with the big reveal about my origins, but she didn’t need to protect me. Not from Paisley. If there was one good thing about this whole melodrama, it was discovering that I wasn’t blood related to that royal pain in the ass. See? There’s always a silver lining. Sometimes you just had to look for it.

We arrived at Liam’s Coffee Shop to find the band was already playing. They were a guitar-heavy jam band, and the crowd was grooving. It was standing room only so I planted myself at the back, but Hannah grabbed my arm and shook her head. She forcibly dragged me—and I do mean dragged since I was afraid to lift my feet and was doing this weird loping slide-walk so as not to trip and break my neck in these ridiculous boots—until Liam’s office door was in our line of sight. My hands started to sweat and I almost bolted. I wasn’t sure I was up for this, especially if rejection was looming.

“Hang tough, Aunt Jules,” Hannah said. “We just need to know that he’s seen you and then you’re free to run.”

“Okay,” I said. “But how will I know?”

“Oh, you’ll know,” my niece said with confidence.

Harry arrived with cappuccinos for the three of us and the two of them started to groove to the band. I did not move for fear that I would fall over. As it was, I had to mince my steps because the pencil thin stilettos were making it impossible to keep my balance. Seriously, how had Em walked in these?

The band was really good and as my balance improved, I bobbed a bit to the music. Okay, mostly I was just nodding my head, but still I was in motion. I took that as a victory.

We’d only been there a few minutes when I got the feeling someone was watching me. I turned, all aflutter, expecting to find Liam staring at me. It was not Liam, rather, but some other guy whose gaze was locked on my boots like they were the answer to his every fantasy. Ew.

This dude was short, stocky, with a sweaty upper lip, a bad comb-over, and thick fingers, one of which he used to dig wax from his ear while he stood there. He stared at my boots with an intensity that made me think he wanted to try them on. Oh, ish!

I gave him a withering look and turned away. The crowd had gotten thicker, and a few people had wedged themselves between me and the twins. I wondered if I should push my way forward, but didn’t want to risk falling on my face.

Someone approached my side and when I glanced down, I discovered short guy staring at my boots, licking his fleshy lips.

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