Page 71 of Game Change

“Are you serious right now?” she asks. “You’re really calling to tell me off about kicking your son out of the house?” She lets out a little laugh. She faces me and rolls her eyes as she points at the phone. “Your son, my former stepbrother, inherited a house he had no right to inherit based on a technicality. A house my mother owned before she married your ex-husband and let him and your son move in. Then he threwmeout of the house I lived in my entire life and then lost it after he destroyed it. I bought the house back, Vanna. Your loser son wasn’t living there when I bought it. Trust me, he can’t afford to rent from me.” She ends the call, tosses the phone on the couch, and takes a deep breath.

I pull her into my arms.

“Let’s go back to bed,” she says. “I’m sorry about that.” She steps out of my arms but takes my hand and pulls me back to the bedroom.

“Do you want to talk about it?” I ask.

“We promised not to talk about anything serious.”

“We promised not to talk about work. That wasn’t work. Maybe I can help,” I offer.

“You can’t help. Remember my former stepbrother?” When I tell her that I do, she says, “That was his mother, and she’s demanding that I let him live in one of the apartments because it’s his home too, and he has no place to live now.”

“Oh,” is all I can think to say.

“The nerve of that woman. Oliver’s dad had full custody of him. She never remembered his birthday or Christmas. He called my mother Mom, and she did everything for him. And he pays her back by kicking me out of the house she always meant for me.” She tells me after her stepfather died, she realized the house was in his name, which meant that Oliver was his next of kin and inherited it instead of her. “I bet she called me because she wants him gone. She never gave a damn about him before. Not my problem.”

“I’m sorry, Honeybee.”

“And he’s such a scumbag. Our parents met because we were in the same art camp one summer. He’s an artist—or at least he was. I don’t know what he’s doing now. The last thing I heard, he was a graphic designer. He’s four years older, and I didn’t realize it until a year after it happened, but when he applied to colleges, he stole one of my designs and submitted it with his application.”

“So, he kicked you out of the house?” I ask, incredulous. “How old were you?”

“I was a junior in college. I lived in the dorm for the first two years, but I took the first semester of my junior year off to take care of my stepdad. He died in November, and when I got kicked out, I lived with Raven for a while. It was a mess. I barely had time to grieve my stepdad.”

I pull her closer and kiss her forehead. “Do you want me to beat him up for you?”

She laughs and snorts at the same time. “I do,” she says.

“Consider it done.”

I light the candles and dim the overhead lights. She’s not much of a dancer, so I put soft music for background noise. I glance out the window and almost want to stick my middle finger at it. The snow stopped last night, and while the roads are slippery, things have started to open up again.

Today’s been great. I went to the store to get the ingredients for the pie after she started prepping the beef stew. She took over my kitchen while I made drinks. When she made the pie crust, I wrapped my arms around her, rested my chin on her shoulder, and watched her work.

Not even getting flour thrown in my face could make me walk away. I decided to make tonight a date night, and she’s getting dressed in one of the guestrooms.

My heart rate picks up when I hear the click-clack of those stiletto boots on my hardwood stairs. She’s in tight black pants and a form-fitting, long-sleeved black and gray lace shirt tucked in.

I approach the bottom of the stairs and offer her my hand. “You smell amazing,” I say after pulling her in my arms. I lift her hand and spin her around. “And you look good enough to eat.” I hug her again and whisper, “And I plan on eating you.”

She pulls away and blushes. For someone so beautiful, smart, and sexy, I don’t think she’s used to being complimented. Every time I tell her how amazing she is, she blushes.

“You made it look so romantic in here,” she says.

“That’s just one of the many, many things I bring into this relationship.” She looks into my eyes, and I think she’s trying to gauge whether I’m serious. “Let’s eat.” I escort her back to the kitchen. While I pour a glass of red wine for each of us, she puts the stew in two large bowls. She slices the bread she baked earlier and brings it to the table. After clinking our glasses together, I take a spoonful of the stew.

“Oh my God,” I moan and take another spoonful. “Beautiful, smart, sexy, and can cook. I’m lucky you were single when we met.”

She sighs and rolls her eyes, but she smiles. “This was my mom’s recipe. She believed in indulging in comfort foods during snowstorms. She taught me.” She puts her spoon down and looks away. “She was the best.” She puts her hand in the middle of the table, and I put mine on top of it.

“How did she die? She must have been young if you were only nineteen.”

“She was fifty-five,” she says. “She had a heart condition. We didn’t know about it until she died.” A tear slips, and she quickly wipes it away. “That got depressing,” she says with a half-hearted laugh. “What about your parents?” she asks.

“Well, my dad passed away years ago. He was eighty-three. My mom was his second wife. My mother lives overseas, and I see her every few years. She was never interested in parenting, so she let the nannies do it. My dad was too old. Uncle Milton was more of a father to me than anyone.” I almost want to bite my tongue for saying his name. The last thing I want is to kill the mood, and mentioning his name is guaranteed to do that. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to mention him.”

“It’s okay,” she says. “But you’re close to your sister, right? I wish I had a sibling, but Raven and Amira are like my sisters. The good kind. The kind I got to choose.”

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