The Kiss Plot by Nicole French

Nineteen

When Zola and I found our seats across from each other at the big farmhouse table, Eric was nowhere to be seen. All of the dinner attendees were seated. Parents, friends, kids, even Annabelle and Christoph, Skylar’s French half-siblings, had emerged from their bedrooms for the meal.

“Where do people keep going?” Brandon demanded as he helped Sarah bring out the platter of carved turkey. “The food is getting cold. No one wants a lukewarm bird.”

“Relax, babe,” Skylar chided him like she was speaking to a child.

“Don’t worry, Brandon,” I said. “You’ll still get dessert if you finish your green beans.”

For that, I received a blue-eyed glare.

“Oh, Aunt Janey,” Jenny said, “Daddy always eats his veggies, ’cause he knows if he doesn’t, I won’t either.”

“Yeah,” Luis agreed beside her.

I smirked at Brandon, who just took a long drink of beer. I didn’t think the man particularly cared that he was wrapped around his daughter’s little pinky.

“Eric had to take a phone call too.” Skylar appeared with a couple of bottles and proceeded to pour everyone a drink, ignoring thirteen-year-old Annabelle’s pleas for a taste of the wine. “Sorry, Anna. The kids get sparkling cider.”

“But Brandon said I could have some special for tonight!” Annabelle argued. Her French accent, I noticed, was almost completely erased after several years of boarding school in Andover and weekends here in Brookline.

“Why?” asked Christoph, whose accent was completely gone. “You’re just a kid.”

“I am not!”

“Brandon!” Skylar turned to admonish her husband, but the big man pretended to hide behind Sarah, whose five-feet-and-change form wasn’t exactly up to the task. At the sight, however, even Skylar couldn’t help but crack a smile, and everyone relaxed as she went back to pouring the kids’ beverages.

“Don’t worry, kid. Wine’s not that great.”

Eric flopped into the empty seat between me and Annabelle, warmth practically radiating from his body. There was a slight sheen on his skin, like he’d just been running, and as he spoke, I caught a hint of vodka off his breath. He ignored me completely and grinned at Annabelle, with whom he was obviously familiar. Of course, I realized. Eric had probably spent nearly every holiday I didn’t in this house for the last five years, considering he had been so deeply estranged from his own people. He knew the kids like they were his own nieces and nephews.

“How’s Andover treating you, Belles? Are you on the headmistress’s good side yet?” Eric asked.

Annabelle gazed at him adoringly. “H-hi, Eric. We—I mean, Chris—was hoping you’d be here for Thanksgiving this year.”

Eric’s smile widened. The girl practically melted. I rolled my eyes. He really couldn’t help himself, even with a gawky eighth grader, could he? Jackass.

“We, um, we heard about the wedding.” Annabelle’s eyes danced to my bare fingers, asking the questions that reporters still called me about.

Eric smiled again, but this one was much grimmer. “Ah. Well. Don’t believe everything you hear, beautiful.”

The girl flushed all over again, but before she could reply, Eric reached for his wine glass and took a nice long drink.

“I thought you didn’t like wine that much anymore,” I murmured.

He set the glass down. “It’s a party. I’ll adjust.” His eyes were glassy, and I could still smell the vodka, even under the wine.

“Who were you talking to?” I asked in a low voice. “Or was it a private conversation between you and Brandon’s stash of Beluga?”

Eric refused to look at me, turning his wine glass back and forth instead. “Nina called to say Happy Thanksgiving.”

“Oh? That’s really sweet of her.”

The steely look erased any lingering goodwill. “Yeah. Everyone says hi. Including Caitlyn.”

My skin prickled. “What?”

His slim blond brow rose. “You heard me. She said to tell Jane and Desi hello, apparently. So I said hello back.”

That idiotic nickname of hers—the one that marked him as hers somehow—made it very difficult not to break my wine glass. “You didn’t. Not after. After we—after you—”

“Let’s not do this here,” Eric said with that calm that absolutely infuriated me.

“Then when?”

“How about never?” he said between clenched teeth and the fakest smile I’d ever seen. “Since you’re too busy prepping your next move, I don’t really see the fucking point.”

His eyes flashed at Zola, who was too immersed making Christoph laugh with some bad French to notice. On his other side, however, Annabelle’s eyes widened at the sudden profanity.

“Stop it,” I hissed.

“Stop what?” Eric suddenly drained his entire glass of wine in one go, then immediately refilled it. “Seems to me you’re the one who lacks self-control, Lefferts.”

My eyes widened. “Excuse me? Who tackled who on the—”

“Ahem!” Eric coughed loud enough to interrupt me, and before I could recover, there was the sound of a chair screeching against the hardwood as Brandon lumbered up at the end of the table, and everyone quieted.

“I—well, we, Skylar and me—wanted to say thanks to everyone for coming today. We, ah, honestly didn’t expect everyone to show.”

There was a small titter of laughter. Brandon was always good with a crowd, even his own family.

“But we’re damn glad—”

“Daddy!”

“Ah, darn glad you did,” Brandon finished with a meaningful look at Jenny. He held up his glass, and we all mirrored him. “Cheers,” he said. “To family and friends.”

“To family and friends,” we repeated dutifully.

“Whether or not they stay that way,” Eric muttered.

“I’m sorry, what?” I asked.

“Shouldn’t we say grace or something?” Brandon asked loudly just as everyone was reaching for the food set out up and down the table.

“Daddy!” Jenny moaned again. “I’m hungry!”

Skylar bit her lip. I snorted. Sometimes you really can’t take the Catholic out of the boy, and according to Skylar, Brandon had gotten a bit more…pious…since taking in Annabelle and Christoph on the weekends. Having a teenage girl running around his house had recently inspired the epiphany that Jenny would also, at some point, have boys sniffing around. Apparently, he had started taking the kids to Mass with him every so often and had been talking a lot of abstinence crap at Jenny. Which, of course, only induced Skylar to make wry comments about how well those celibacy vows were working for the church, and to buy various sex education books for all the kids in the house.

“Grace?” Ray put in. “Brandon, I’m a scientist. I don’t believe in God. And you don’t either, for that matter.”

“I never said I don’t believe in God, Ray,” Brandon replied, looking nervously at Christoph and Annabelle, as well as Jenny, who was observing with a keen eye. Luis, still too young to really follow the conversation, was already dipping his spoon in the sweet potatoes Skylar had put on his plate.

“Well, I do,” Sarah said, whose love for Brandon couldn’t be quashed by a mere difference in religion. “The Jewish one, at any rate.” She looked kindly at Brandon, and he grinned back at her.

“Come on, you shiksa goddess,” I jeered at Brandon, making Skylar, her dad, and Zola all snort. He was really too easy to tease. “Just clear your conscience so we can eat. My stomach is growling a prayer right now.”

“Daddy, what’s a shiksa?” Jenny asked.

“It’s a pretty gentile girl, matoki,” Sarah said automatically, petting her great-granddaughter on the head. “Brandon, maybe just a simple blessing? My Daniel is very good at that sort of thing.”

“Ma.” Danny just shook his head. Skylar patted him on the shoulder. She knew he didn’t really like being the center of attention.

“What?” Sarah asked. “You love being on the stage playing the music, don’t you?”

Jenny screwed her freckled face up in confusion. “Daddy’s not a girl. How can he be a shiksa?”

“I’m not, pea. Auntie Jane thinks she’s being funny.”

I couldn’t stop giggling, however, and soon, Christoph and Annabelle had joined me, while several other people hid smiles. Eric, however, remained stone-faced.

“Very nice, Jane,” Brandon said.

But when he bowed his head and crossed himself, his daughter as well as his wife’s siblings all automatically mimicked the movement. Apparently, Mass wasn’t completely lost on them.

Across the table, Zola sighed and did the same, and slowly, the rest of the adults bowed their heads out of respect as Brandon gave a short, awkward blessing that was only slightly better than “Good bread, good meat, good God, let’s

“Poetic,” I remarked to Eric.

“It had a rhyme scheme,” he said without any humor. He dished himself potatoes and turned to pass them without offering me any.

I handed him my plate. “Um, do you mind?”

“I do. But I’ll do it anyway.” Eric smacked a spoonful so hard they splattered across the plate.

“So, Matthew,” Sarah asked from the other side of the table as she gestured for Zola’s plate to serve some turkey.

“Zola,” he corrected her with a good-natured grin. “The only person who calls me Matthew is my mother when I’m in trouble, Mrs. Crosby.”

“And why aren’t you with her?” Eric asked nastily as he accepted the stuffing from Annabelle.

This time I didn’t ask for some—he just dumped a bunch right on top of my potatoes. I used my fork to separate them, then passed my plate down for some green beans.

Zola looked up uncomfortably as he took his plate back. “Well, my parents’ place is pretty small, and I have a lot of siblings. And now they have kids, so…”

“What’s wrong with kids?” Eric asked. “There are kids here too. Do you not like them either?”

Zola looked around at the children currently present, all of whom seemed to be very interested in his response. “Ah, no, no, they’re great. And I love my nieces and nephews. It’s just…I see them a lot, especially at Christmas, so I usually take Thanksgiving to get away for a bit, you know? See other friends. Other towns.”

“Other girls?”

Zola paused mid bite of turkey. “Ah, sure. Sometimes there are girls present.” He smiled at me. “Like today.”

Eric looked like he wanted to hurl the bowl of cranberry sauce he was holding at Zola’s face.

“Why are you so interested, Petri dish?” I asked. “Did you need a wingman to help you refill your sample?”

Eric’s eyes narrowed at the use of the nickname. “Maybe,” he said, just because he knew it would hurt. “But apparently he doesn’t need one. He was able to make his move all on his own, wasn’t he, pretty girl?”

“Ah…I’m sorry?” Zola’s gaze ping-ponged between Eric and me. “Hey, man, if I did something—”

“He’s talking about the fact that you hugged me on the porch,” I said, though I was still staring at Eric. His blond hair was now deliciously mussed, and his silvery gray eyes had gone completely black. If I hadn’t been so furious with him, I would have wanted to drag him back to the lab.

But the entire table had gone quiet—they were all watching this little display. All I wanted was for Eric to make it end.

Sadly, he did not. “I’m talking about the fact that you molested some guy right here in front of me and the kids, Jane.”

“Oh my God,” I snapped. “It was a hug, not softcore porn.”

“Guys,” Brandon warned us.

“What are they talking about?” Susan asked Ray. He shrugged and kept eating potatoes like nothing was happening.

“It was inappropriate,” Eric retorted. “And embarrassing.”

“Kind of like this conversation?” I returned.

“Eric,” Skylar tried. “Jane. You guys, come on—”

“Maybe she wouldn’t have needed a hug if someone hadn’t made her cry,” Zola said.

I turned to him. “Oh, that’s not why I was—”

“Maybe she was crying because some fucking creep wouldn’t take his hands off her,” Eric rejoined.

“Language!” Sarah snapped, clapping her hands over Luis’s ears.

“Whoa,” Christoph muttered. He looked at his sister. “He sounds like your friends at school, Anna.”

“Which friends are these?” Brandon asked suspiciously.

“Eric!” I stood up and glared at him, ignoring the curious stares of the people all around the table. “Outside. Now.”

He swallowed and shook his head. “No. We can’t.”

I expelled a quick, frustrated sigh. “Then the lab again,” I said, ignoring our onlookers’ surprised, confused faces. “It’s quiet there. Brandon, would you mind letting us in?”

Eric stood and grabbed my arm. “Fine, let’s go.”

“Hey, can you not drag me?” I yanked my arm back, and when he didn’t release it, Zola and Brandon were both standing.

“Eric,” Brandon called. “Calm down, man. We’re already going.”

“Stop grabbing on me!” I batted his shoulder, but his hand didn’t move, so instead I dug my heels in and pulled him back.

“Hey, man. She said stop!” Zola reached across the table toward Eric. And it was the absolute wrong move.

“Get your fucking hands off me!” The words flew out of Eric’s mouth, and before I could stop him, his hand dropped my arm as the other went swinging across the table at Zola, who ducked away neatly.

Brandon hopped around the crowd and pinned Eric to the wall in exactly two seconds.

“Let me go!” Eric roared, hands pinwheeling outward. “Let me fucking go, Brandon!”

“Mommy,” Jenny whispered as she clung to Skylar. “Mommy, what’s wrong with Uncle Eric? He looks mad at Aunt Janey. And he said ‘fuck.’ A lot.”

“Don’t say that word, pea,” Brandon said between gritted teeth while he struggled to hold Eric still.

“But Uncle Eric said—”

“Skylar, can you get the kids out of here?” Brandon snapped as he twisted an arm around Eric’s shoulder, holding him captive in a tight half-nelson.

“What is wrong with you!” I hissed at Eric from where I had backed against the wall, holding Luis away from the nonsense. “You are acting crazy! It’s like having Thanksgiving with Jekyll and fucking Hyde!”

“Now Aunt Janey said ‘fuck’ too!” Jenny squealed.

“It’s just a word,” Annabelle remarked in a droll voice that somehow only thirteen-year-old girls can manage. “Anyone can say fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“Everyone stop saying fuck!” Brandon shouted.

“Fuckin’ A,” Danny muttered in agreement.

“Dad!” Skylar snapped.

Sarah appeared next to me and swept Luis into her arms with more spryness than any octogenarian should have.

“I will take the kids upstairs,” she said, her thick Brooklyn accent more apparent than ever. “All of them. And let the big babies get their acts together.”

She gave her granddaughter a meaningful look, which she then directed at Annabelle and Christoph. Both children immediately rose, carrying their plates.

“Skylar. You get these boys under control, you hear? Or else they’ll have me to deal with.”

Every man in the kitchen—including her son, Danny—blanched at the idea of being on the receiving end of Sarah Crosby’s sharp tongue. She exited the room with everyone thirteen and under, followed soon by Susan, then Ray and Danny as they made excuses to watch the rest of the football game.

Skylar waited until their parents and kids were gone, then turned to face who was left with the same imperious expression that had won her a reputation as a shark in court.

“Get it together,” she ordered. “Otherwise, you can get the hell out of my house. All of you.”

There was a tense minute where everyone left stared at each other with wide eyes, like they were waiting for someone to toss a grenade into the middle of all of it. But, as if by some telegraphed message that signaled the threat had passed, we all relaxed. Brandon released Eric in a slump against the wall, Zola heaved a big sigh, and I flopped back into my chair.

“I meant no harm,” Zola said. “And I have no motives with Jane, all right? We’re just friends. Anyone can see the two of you are—”

“Nothing,” Eric cut him off with another sharp look. “We’re nothing. It’s an arrangement at this point, as I’m sure she informed you over dinner.”

Zola blinked, his dark eyes sharp, but full of empathy. It occurred to me then that this was why Zola had come to the dinner. Like any good investigator, he couldn’t resist a solid lead. And as mortifying as this little altercation had been, it had at the very least convinced Zola that I was right. Eric was acting extremely out of character. Someone was forcing his hand.

The prosecutor’s gaze traveled over Eric’s sullen form, like he was looking for something. The bug, I realized. Of course. Zola was curious about how in the hell Eric was being tracked.

Zola believed me.

“Yeah,” he said finally as he picked up his glass of wine. “She did. Which, to be honest, is really why I’m here instead of breaking bread with my own family. I was wondering if I could help.”