Page 114 of Regretting Youu

Chapter Thirty

Clara

“Let me get this straight,” Lexie says. She kicks her feet up on the coffee table, nearly knocking over one of the bottles of wine. “Your mom is sleeping with Uncle Teacher?”

I hiccup. Then nod.

“Her dead sister’s fiancé?”

I nod again.

“Wow.” She leans forward and grabs more wine. “I’m not drunk enough for this.” She takes a swig straight from the bottle. I take it from her, not because I think she’s gone overboard but because I don’t know that I’m drunk enough for it either. I take a sip, then set it between my legs, gripping the top of the bottle.

“How long do you think it’s been going on?” she asks.

I shrug. “No telling. She’s over there right now. We have that app, and that’s where she is. Over there. With him.”

“Bastards,” she says. After that insult leaves her mouth, she suddenly grows animated, hopping up from the couch. She stumbles but catches herself. “What if your mother and Jonah caused the wreck so they could be together?”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“I’m serious, Clara! Do you not watch Dateline?”

I motion toward the television. “We don’t have cable anymore.”

Lexie begins pacing the living room, a little wobbly but successfully. “What if this is a conspiracy? I mean, think about it. Your dad and Jenny were together when they died. Why were they together?”

“My dad had a flat tire. They work in the same building. Jenny was giving him a ride.” They’re dead because of my texts to Aunt Jenny, but I keep that thought to myself.

Lexie narrows her eyes and snaps her fingers, like she just solved the case. “Flat tires can be staged.”

I roll my eyes, grab my fork, and take another bite of the cake sitting on the coffee table. It’s the saddest birthday cake I’ve ever seen. No one has even cut a slice from it. There are just huge chunks of cake missing from the top and sides. I speak with a mouthful. “My mom is a terrible person. But she’s not a murderer.”

Lexie raises an eyebrow. “What about Uncle Teacher? He hasn’t been around that long. Do we even know where he’s been? There could be a trail of dead bodies in his wake.”

“You watch way too much TV.”

She stomps over to me and bends over, coming face to face with me. “True TV! I watch crimes that have actually happened! This stuff happens, Clara. More often than you think.”

I shove a bite of cake in her mouth to shut her up.

It was unnecessary, though, because as soon as the front door opens, Lexie and I both clamp our mouths shut at the sudden presence of my mother.

Lexie slowly begins to lower herself to the coffee table. “Hello, Morgan,” Lexie says, doing everything in her power to appear sober. It might have worked if she wasn’t lifting her legs and stretching her back into an awkward position on the coffee table as she tries to hide the bottles of wine from my mother. Her entire body is stiff and contorted now. I appreciate her efforts, but she overestimates my mother’s stupidity.

My mother closes the door and stares at us with disappointment. She can see the empty bottles on the table, despite Lexie’s attempt to sprawl out in front of them. Lexie forgot I’m also holding a bottle in my lap. Can’t very well hide that at this point.

My mother’s eyes fall on me. “Really, Clara?” Her voice is flat. Unsurprised. It’s as if nothing I do could disturb her at this point.

“I was just leaving,” Lexie says, pushing off the table. She begins to walk toward the door, but my mother holds out her hand.

“Give me your keys.”

Lexie’s head rolls back with a groan. She pulls her keys from her pocket and drops them in my mother’s hand. “Does that mean I can stay the night?”

“No. Call your mother to come get you.” She looks at me. “Clean up this mess.” She takes Lexie’s keys to the kitchen.

Lexie pulls out her phone.