Page 28 of WASP

“I hate being Andrew Dillinger, junior.” There was, rightfully, a bite to her brother’s words, and she understood why. She had watched, over the years, the pressure her parents placed on her older siblings while quietly thanking God it wasn’t her.

“I don’t blame you one bit.” She looped her arm through her brother’s, the two of them ascending the steps to the front door.

They moved through the lower level of the home, across the open-concept kitchen/living area, Annie spotting the collection of vintage movie posters Jack had spent years hunting down, and through a sliding glass door that opened onto a back patio. A sleek, dark wooden pergola with black metal slats was situated over the concrete pad; in the center, a stone fireplace and seating draped with pillows and blankets.

“All smoothed over?” Jack called from the chair he was perched on, feet propped up on the edge of the stone firepit.

Annie caught Max’s eye where she sat across from Jack, wine glass in hand, knees tucked under a blanket, her dark fleece jacket zipped all the way up. She had pulled her hair back since they had parted ways, the glow of the fire making shadows dance across her square jaw.

“Yeah,” she said quickly, her gaze snapping to Jack. “We’re good. Of course we’re good.” She smiled reassuringly. “You suck, by the way.” She kicked at Jack’s feet, moving around him to claim the empty spot on the couch next to Max.

“I know, I know.” Jack chuckled, sliding his hand into Drew’s, giving him a gentle squeeze. “Grab Annie a glass of the vidal blanc that’s in the wine fridge. Oh, and bring out the bag of s’mores stuff!”

Annie watched her brother, someone who, to her, had always been such a stoic force, never really showing any kind of outward emotion, melt under Jack’s gentle touch before heading back inside.

“You have to try one of these,” Max said, pressing a glass container full of cookies into her hands.

“Seriously, try one. Lynn makes the best cookies,” Jack confirmed, fiddling with a remote in his hands, pressing a button activating the space heaters built into the structure above them. “I’m bummed she didn’t want to hang out tonight.”

Annie reached into the container, retrieving a pale yellow cookie with tiny flecks of purple. The scent of lavender hit her nostrils as she bit down, the shortbread meeting her tongue, crumbling perfectly. “You’re right. That’s probably the best cookie I’ve ever had.”

Drew emerged from inside the house, two wine glasses in hand. A girl with long red hair and perfect teeth followed closely behind him. “Look who finally graced us with her presence.”

“Dani!” Jack called, raising his wineglass in a greeting to none other than Danielle Wellington— yes, that Wellington—as Drew handed Annie her glass of wine.

“Of course, why not,” Annie muttered into her sip. This night was seriously turning into some small town bullshit palooza.

“Oh, Annie, hey!” Dani said, taking the other glass of wine from Drew before he once again ducked back into the house. “Guess, uh, the cat’s out of the bag.” She motioned with her hand between Jack and where Drew had been standing moments ago.

Jack’s smile spread across his face as Dani dropped into the remaining empty seat. Drew returned, his own glass of wine in hand, settling into the spot beside Jack and draping the blanket across both their laps. “Yeah. It’s all because Max over here couldn’t use her powers of deductive reasoning.”

Max let out a dramatic, over-acted gasp. “I’m sorry, how was I supposed to know you two were siblings?”

“Have you seen them? Annie and Drew look identical. All the Dillinger siblings do—minus the hair. That’s common Wellington Point knowledge, I fear.” Dani laughed, bringing her knees up to her chest, reaching for a blanket.

“She’s right. We do all have that very quintessential Dillinger look,” Annie confirmed, bumping her knee against Max’s gently, enjoying the way she bumped her right back.

The group settled into chatter, Annie mostly choosing to sit back and observe the dynamics at play. Everyone seemed so at ease, so comfortable, so relaxed with each other. A suspicious lack of the usual on-edge-ness that plagued her other Wellington Point friendships made Annie question what ulterior motives existed here, but the more she listened and the more she participated, the more she understood that this group genuinely cared about each other.

At some point—after Max had gotten up, offering to get Annie a second glass of wine, and before they really got into the stickiness of making s’mores—the blanket that had been across Max’s lap shifted to span the entire length of the couch, covering Annie too. The brush of their thighs touching every time one of them moved or shifted instantly made Annie lose all rational thought. It was an exquisite tease, one she was thoroughly enjoying, never wanting it to end.

Conversation naturally died down, and around eleven, Max got to her feet. “Some of us have to be at work bright and early tomorrow morning.” She yawned, stretching languidly, turning to look down at Annie where she was still curled under the blanket, missing the warmth of Max beside her. “Ready to head out?” she asked, clear eyes catching the reddish-orange glow of the embers still smoldering in the circular fire pit.

“You’re coming to the Christmas open house, right, Max?” her brother asked as he and Jack stood, hugging them goodbye. Annie shot him a look that asked What are you up to?

“She one hundred percent will be there,” Jack interjected, sliding his arms around Max’s shoulders. “I need a date.” He winked at Annie. She had always thought Jack was a little bit of a flirt, but now, with the context of tonight, she understood.

“You should come,” Annie added. “The people watching will be elite.”

“We’ll see.” Max shirked out of Jack’s grip, elbowing him in the ribs as they each said one more goodbye, making their way back to Max’s car.

Once they were on the road, Max asked a quiet question. “Do you really want me to come to the Christmas open house?” Max, who in all of their interactions had always come across as confident, suddenly seemed nervous, and Annie couldn’t understand why.

“I really do.”

* * *

Everyone in Wellington Point understood that there were two days a year it was unacceptable to throw a party. The Saturday before Christmas and the Fourth of July. Both days were unofficially reserved for one woman and one woman only—Colleen Dillinger.