Page 8 of Perfect Praise

Graham doesn’t miss a beat. “To show people you are actually a human with a soul, no matter how much you hide it. And trust me, Locke, it’s not an easy job.”

“I’d tell you to fuck off, but I know you won’t.”

“Get back to doing what you do best; playing golf,” he laughs.

After he hangs up, I settle in the bay next to Conrad. With him, I never have to pretend. He just lets me be.

I pull my driver out of my golf bag that Conrad hauled over here. That feeling when the golf ball hits the sweet spot is the closest thing I have to pure love.

Camille waddles across theliving room, balancing a plate of nachos on her stomach as we get ready to watch the episode ofTriple Bogeywe recorded.

“Don’t use my nephew as a shelf,” I say.

She rolls her eyes and places the heaping pile of cheese on the coffee table in front of me. “It’s the least he could do. My sciatic nerve will never recover from the damage he’s doing in there.”

“I want some tortilla chips with that cheese,” I tease, eyeing the overflowing plate.

“They’re under there,” she says and plops down next to me on the couch. “If you’re not going to be nice to me, be nice to baby boy.He’sthe one who wants all this food. And yeah, be nice to me. I’m almost seven months pregnant.”

I tsk. “You have to love me anyway.”

The cardinal sibling rule. And Camille and I are about as close as you can get without being actual twins. Eleven months apart, we have been together every step of the way—you know, except for those eleven months I lived without her. Maybe you could even say it was only the two months before she was conceived.

We also coincidentally look almost identical—except for that year she had purple hair. Somehow, our mother was never able to talk herout of it. It was Camille’s choicealonewhen she decided to pivot to the balayage craze. If it was our mom’s choice, Camille would have caramel-highlighted brown waves—like me.

Even though we were close growing up, I constantly lived in my little sister’s shadow. Camille was scoring the soccer goals and back handspringing over me in gymnastics. She was kissing boys first and sneaking out, all while making better grades.

But you’d think she was living in mine the way my mom showered her with attention like she was compensating for something. Maybe that’s why Camille’s the confident one—she had some deep-seeded childhood experience that allowed her to spread her self-assured wings. The one I didn’t get, the one that left me aiming to please everyone.

“How’s Mom?” I sing. “In grandmother shopping heaven?”

“She hates the crib I picked out.”

“Shocking,” I deadpan, munching on a nacho that I had to dig out from the shredded three-cheese mound.

“I don’t care. The one I want is gorgeous. Besides, that’s all we bought today because she insisted that I keep looking at ugly cribs, so I humored her, then rejected every one that she liked more.”

I snort. “Living vicariously through you since the early 2000s.”

“Maren, I swear. When you have a baby, you better not buy the cribshewants—”

“I need a boyfriend first,” I stop her. “When’s it getting delivered?”

“He’s backordered,” she quips. “But I got you the extra-large. I hope it fits.”

A groan slips out of my mouth. “Jesus, Camille. That is not a visual I want in your head.”

She waves her hand in my face and smirks. “Russell wasn’t cutting it—obviously.”

Since she’s indifferent to all sports in general, I doubt she saw the press conference today, but that doesn’t stop my mind from drifting to Locke.

“What do you meanobviously?” I shoot back before I quickly follow with, “No, don’t answer that. When is yourcribgetting delivered?”

“While you’re in San Diego. It’s going to look perfect in front of the window in your room.”

I sigh. “It’s notmyroom. It’s the nursery, and I promise I will help you set it up as soon as I get back. Then the very next thing I’ll do is look for a new place. It’s time, and you and Parker need alone time before the baby comes anyway. I’ve already been here too long invading your space.”

“Please,” she says. “Parker and I don’t care. Between the hospital and his personal patients, I’m surprised he even found the time to knock me up.”

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