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"Do you think she'll let me be now?" I ask, not even sure I want to know the answer.
But Miranda seems confident, her chin raising as she gives me a smile. "Yes, just show up, make it clear you're not interested in the family crap, and you should be fine. She's more reasonable than Dad was." Her voice softens as her cheeks turn red. “Sorry, I shouldn’t say stuff like that.”
Grasping her hand, I give her a sad smile. "It's okay, Andy. He’s dead, but that doesn’t mean that he was suddenly perfect. You don’t have to pretend with me, you know that."
“Oh trust me, I know. But I do miss him, as fucked up as that is.”
I tighten my grip on her palm. “It’s not, Andy. I missed him too, very rarely, while I was gone, and now…” I shake my head, afraid to admit what I’m thinking aloud. I won’t ever get the chance to fix our relationship. “Let’s just say, I’m glad you two spent so much time together.”
Miranda smiles through her sniffles. “Anyway,” she raises a brow and averts her eyes, like she’s embarrassed by showing so much emotion. “Everyone’s here. Grayson even brought his son. You should see them together. It’s adorable.” Hearing about Grayson and his son brings a genuine smile to my face. He’s always been my favorite cousin. A gentle giant, he’s tall but as sweet as honey. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen or heard about Grayson losing his patience. And suddenly, I’m eager to see him with his kid. If anyone was made to be a dad, it’s him.
Miranda and I spend the next while catching up. It's surprisingly comfortable, a rarity for us, filled with family updates and a bit of gossip.
“And what about you? Any boyfriends?” I ask. We’ve been talking about the latest affair of our Uncle Harold and I’m sick of it. The man is a certified asshole, but it does have me wondering about Miranda’s love life. Our family has a strict protocol for serious relationships, requiring approval from the family's head, a hurdle I've never even approached, and from what I know, neither has Miranda.
She quickly shakes her head, clearly amused by the question. “I learned a long time ago that I wasn’t made for long-term relationships. Not yet anyway.”
I nod, thinking along the same lines for myself. “And you?”
Despite everything going on, I smile thinking about Tommy and how right it felt to be cuddled up next to him on the couch. “Uh, no one right now.”
“Uh oh,” Miranda says, her face twisting into an amused grin.
But I’m confused. “What?”
“That’s the same look you got over Bobby Humphry.”
“No, it’s not like that!” I feel like a kid again, denying a crush like this.
Miranda rolls her eyes. “You know we’re twins, right? I can tell when you’re lying. But whatever, keep it to yourself.” I’m ready to protest some more, but at those last words, Miranda is getting up from the mattress we had both settled on. “Alright, little sis, I should go get ready. Wear the emerald green dress tonight.” I purse my lips at the sound of ‘little sis.’ Yes, Miranda was born first, but it’s annoying how often she rubs it in.
Still, the rest of today's conversation felt too good to sour with any sort of pettiness, so I let it go. She bids me goodbye with a quick hug and leaves me to it.
Alone, I reluctantly reach for the green dress she suggested and try it on. Looking in the mirror, I feel a surge of confidence power through me. The dress, with its curve-hugging design and low neckline, makes me feel undeniably sexy. It even accents the colors in my tattoo, adding an unexpected pop.
A part of me really wants to share how I look with Tommy, to capture his reaction. His number is just there in my phone, tempting me. But after the confusion at the surf shop, I hesitate, unsure of where we stand. He did say he liked jealous Tilly.
Instead of pining more, of wishing I could feel his palms along my hips or breathe in that gorgeous smell that seems to be entirely his own special brand of aromatic torture, I head into the bathroom to put on my makeup.
And once it’s done, I smile in the mirror. I look fucking great. With more confidence than before, I pull out my phone and snap a mirror selfie and send it.
Me: Dressed to kill… or should I say for death?
It’s dark, but Tommy usually appreciates that sort of humor. A smirk still on my face, I head out to find a matching bag.
Chapter twelve
Tommy
Pulling into my mom’s driveway, I’m flanked by a jeep and a sedan that look like they’ve been through war, or at the very least several snowstorms without a wash. I park behind the car, stepping out into a cold so vicious it feels fucking personal. Oh, look at that, my balls have shriveled into raisins. Yeah, ninety percent of the reason I moved to Costa Rica is to never feel that sensation in my crotch again. Fucking bitch-ass snow. Gaa!
As I step out, I'm greeted by the familiar sound of barking from inside the house. Through the window, I catch my mom's face lighting up at the sight of me, her screech of joy audible even through the closed door. Shaking off the snow from my boots on the porch, I step inside. I’m barely through the door when I’m mobbed by a giant black husky. His idea of the perfect welcome home gift is a barrage of licks to every inch of skin he can reach. In my current bundled-up state, it’s mostly my hands. But before long, the furball is jumping onto me and getting a taste of my face. “Missed you too, beast,” I say, shoving him back. “But let’s keep that nasty tongue for your own ass, mmkay?” He whines, and I pat his head.
"Ma?" I call out, trying to steady myself. She rounds the corner, phone in hand. “Sorry, baby, Dylan just called as you pulled up.” She shows me the screen, and there's my brother Dylan's face.
"What’s up, ugly?" Dylan says with all the warmth reserved for an estranged cousin.
"Not too much. Just visiting my favorite mom," I shoot back, planting a kiss on my mom’s cheek. Because what is family for if not some friendly but relentless sibling rivalry? Dylan and I text often, but face-to-face—or in this case, screen-to-face—conversations have been rare since he moved to Tahoe to work as a ski instructor.
