Page 110 of Peaches & Pistols

“Fuck. Marry. Kill,” Olivia declares.

“Livy!” Delilah shrieks.

“I’m in,” Izzy pipes up from the floor.

“Mia, have you ever played?” Olivia asks.

“Umm…”

Before I can answer, Olivia takes charge. “One of us names 3 celebrities or characters and you have to choose one to fuck, one to marry, and one to kill. Simple as that, except sometimes the choice is impossible to make. I’ll go first”

Olivia bounces in her seat; of course she’ll go first. “Ross, Chandler, and Joey.”

Izzy pipes up first from the floor. “Easy. Fuck Joey. Marry Ross. Kill Chandler.”

“What? You can’t be serious!” Delilah shrieks from the couch. “You’d kill Chandler? He’s the funniest one and he’s so sweet to Monica!”

“I think his jokes would get so annoying I’d have to ‘off’ him.” Izzy shrugs. “What’s your answer?”

“Fuck Joey. Marry Chandler. Kill Ross,” Delilah answers confidently.

Izzy rolls her hand for Delilah to explain her answer, as Livy soaks up the minor drama, happy as a clam.

“I already told you why I love Chandler. I’d have to kill Ross because he’d mess around ‘on a break’ or I’d be like his eighth wife. He’s gotta go.” Delilah hitches her thumb over her shoulder, and I laugh a genuine laugh for the first time all day.

“And our next contestant is, Mia,” Livy says like a gameshow host.

“Fuck Ross. Marry Chandler. Kill Joey,” I say quietly, quickly taking a sip of my drink.

The room riots. Everyone’s talking over each other, arguing and looking at me like I have two heads.

“Explain!” Delilah shrieks.

“I’d marry Chandler for the same reasons you would. I’m not in love with the idea of sleeping with Ross. But Joey’s not going to have a long life anyway. With the way he eats, he’s going to have a coronary before he goes grey. Besides, he doesn’t share food,” I say with a shrug.

We all laugh so hard we forget to have Livy answer and move on to the next round.

How did I get so lucky to have these incredible women as my family?

I have no idea how long we play for, but the fire is lower, and our cups have been refilled more than once. That familiar warmth spreads through my chest, and I press my hands over my heart where I hold Charlie.

These women banded together and spent their night keeping me safe, comfortable, and distracted—unconventionally or not. I haven’t felt so accepted and supported by a friend since Charlie died. Being the angel she is, she sent me three “sisters” instead.

How are they so at ease with this situation? Do the Andersen men have a habit of using violence to protect the women they love? I just can’t picture stoic Reid starting a bar brawl or sweet Connor with bloody knuckles.

The front door swings open, bringing in a burst of frigid March air. Izzy’s face lights up like Christmas and she pops up to greet Reid with a hug and kiss.

“Mia, Greyson’s ready for you to come down. If there’s anything you’d like to say before you sign the papers, we’re all here for you,” Reid says.

My immediate reaction is to fold in on myself, trying to be as small as possible to avoid Carter’s attention. Then I remember where I am, who I’m being protected by, and how much I’ve grown as a woman since I left him. So instead, I rise.

I refuse to be afraid of that man another minute of my life.

Resolved, I slip on my boots and jacket and lead the way out the front door to Reid’s idling truck. We don’t speak during the short drive into the dark night, and I appreciate Reid’s ability to be quiet in a comforting way.

Greyson stands outside a small guest house, illuminated by a single porch light and Reid’s headlights. He rushes to the passenger side to open my door and help me down.

I bury my face in his collar, unable to get close enough to him.