“She has been dating around a lot,” Ryann says, giving me a pointed look. “According to the Tattler, she’s looking for a husband.”
“Oh, I saw that.” Mom beams.
I turn up my palms. “Seriously, Mom? You’re reading the New Hope Tattler now?”
“People link to it on Facebook all the time.” She shrugs, all innocence and poise. “I can’t help it if the previews put part of the article in my newsfeed.”
Ryann looks green. “You read the Tattler?”
A few weeks ago, the Tattler named a bunch of high school girls seen at a college party. Ryann and her best friend, Drew Fisher, were on the list. Ryann already got a piece of my mind about that. I may despise the Tattler, but if knowing her whereabouts might be seen by our mother is going to keep my little sister out of trouble, then I could get behind the trashy website.
Mom cuts her eyes to Ryann. “I see enough.”
“Well, it’s just a bunch of gossip,” Ryann says. “Half of it is lies, anyway.”
Mom smirks. “Mmm-hmm.”
Thankfully, the topic shifts to Della’s labor and delivery as the baby is passed around the room, and before I know it, it’s five in the evening and the nurses are shooing us out the door so the new mother and baby can both rest.
I say my goodbyes and Connor follows me out.
“Can we talk for a minute?” he asks when we’re alone in the hall.
I stop walking and shove my hands into my pockets. Connor used to be one of my best friends. We met in college, and for a couple of years I shared a house with him and William Bailey and a couple of other guys. My friendship with Connor changed when he started dating my sister. It ended when he broke my sister’s heart. Now he’s no longer my friend. He’s my brother-in-law, and I accept that—Della’s life, Della’s choices—but that doesn’t mean I have to like the guy. “Yeah. Sure.”
“Was Ryann telling the truth? You spent last night with . . . Liz?” He doesn’t look angry, but the way he says her name sounds a little pained.
“That’s not really your business, Connor.”
“I know but . . .” He props his hands on his hips and looks at the ceiling. “I’m thinking about your sister,” he finally says with a sigh. “You know if I could go back and change what happened, I would. But I can’t do that, and I don’t want you doing anything that’s going to rub the past in Della’s face.”
My whole body has gone rigid. “Like what?”
“I know you and Liz . . . hook up sometimes.”
“What’s your point?”
“I’m just hoping she’s not the one you’re thinking of dating throughout this campaign. I don’t think she’s the right choice.”
It doesn’t matter that I’d come to the same conclusion on my drive here. My thoughts and emotions are too tangled where Liz is concerned, and twelve months of dating isn’t going to improve that situation. But anger surges through me the second Connor vocalizes the very thing I was thinking. Slowly, I count backward from five before saying, “I don’t remember asking you.”
“Governor Guy will be in town tomorrow. Sabrina’s already here. There is a good choice. Hell, almost anyone would be a better choice than Liz.”
My whole body tenses. “My sister just gave birth to your child, and you’re seriously going to stand there and be jealous of my relationship with Liz?”
“Lower your voice,” he says.
“Stay out of my business,” I hiss. “She isn’t yours, Connor, and I’ll date her if I want to.”
“You’ll fuck her and you’ll break her heart,” he mutters.
I take a step closer. I look down on most guys, but Connor’s my height and we’re eye to eye. “Say that again.”
He exhales slowly. “Just . . . whatever. But don’t bring her home. That wouldn’t be fair to Della.”
When angry words fill my mouth, I keep my jaw locked shut so they can’t escape. I’ve said my piece to him more than once. Della made her choice. Time to let go and move on. The thing is, when it comes to Liz, I’ve always found letting go to be harder than it should be.
“Thank you for thinking of my sister,” I finally say. “But just because you fucked a girl once doesn’t mean you get to decide if I bring her home.”
* * *
Liz
At home, I face my closed laptop as if I’m afraid it might attack me.
I took the app off my phone, but I know the Something Real messenger client is going to load the minute I start up my computer, and I’m going to be faced with a deluge of messages from him.