Page 182 of Bona Fide

“And you needed a chaperone or…” She returns my response with an unamused expression and gestures towards the front room.

“We’ll sit out here.”

“We have somewhere to be.” And you know that. “It’ll have to wait, Em.”

“It can’t.”

“She looks serious,” Lucas comments next to me, and he’s not wrong. However, it does nothing to make me want to move. “Let’s just hurry up and get it over with.” Phoebe gives me a soft squeeze in agreement.

“It’ll be alright,” Phoebe mutters.

Because you’re used to Dad ordering you both around. Because I didn’t raise y’all better. Because I’m a fucking tool for leaving you both with our parents.

“Follow me,” I deadpan, motioning for Em and Henry to lead the way.

Inside my living room, the sun is hidden by clouds, dousing my mood as Phoebe and Lucas sit together on the couch.

A united front.

They might not be an entirely strong one at first sight, but they’ve survived. Not only that, but my problems don’t seem as dire as the ones they’ve experienced because of the decisions I’ve made. And Lucas and Phoebe are so much more inspirational than me. They’ve forgiven me off a whim, accepted my help, and have listened to everything I’ve said.

I would’ve, again, told them to fuck off and not bother me if the tables we turned.

Henry is at the minibar pouring a drink, but my focus stays locked on Em, who patiently waits for me to settle in. So I stand next to my brother and sister, taking sides, ready to hear what's so important that it couldn't wait.

“Floor is yours, Em.”

“We have a problem,” she deadpans, swiping up a folder that I didn’t realize was on the coffee table when we walked in.

“I caught on to that.”

“Demi is moving on with her shady dealings, I found out what it is.” She extends the manila folder to me. My eyes narrow in on her as I take it. She just said that in front of my fucking father who I don’t want to know shit about what I’ve been doing and how much I’ve grown up to become him.

An asshole.

Stupid.

Selfish.

A liar.

“And that had to be said in front of Henry?” I carp, feeling my temper start to peak.

“Yes,” Em replies. “Because it’s going to involve him too. Our plan.”

On cue, he comes over with three glasses in his hand; one for Lucas, me, and Phoebe waves him off.

“I’m good,” she states then pulls out a blunt.

“Really, Phoebe?” Dad chides softly. “That stuff stinks.”

“Then leave,” Lucas proposes flatly. “It’ll speed this up.”

Maybe he is more like me after all.

“Go ahead, Em,” I press.

“She’s been talking to the Russians.”

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