Page 9 of Sin Bin

I’ve since learned to take what my father says with a grainofsalt.

Something that Shelby clearly hasn’t learned to do, despite the fact that she’s been married to him for over adecade.

“How aboutsad?” she prompts, her blue eyes locked on Tia in worry. “Zoelookssad.”

“She doesn’t looksad,” my dad counters, color infusing hischeeks.

Oh, crap. Here we goagain.

I try to catch Tia’s eye, but she’s too busy pushing the food around on her plate. Wanting to put a smile on her face, I kick her foot under the table with just enough force that she knows it wasn’taccidental.

Her dark eyes flick over to me, and she makes a “whaddaya gonna do” face, complete with a slack mouth and half-closed eyes, like she’s five seconds away from falling asleep at the table. I return the look, not caring how silly I appear, in sisterlycamaraderie.

“She looks pissed,” Dad finishes, thrusting his fork intheair.

Now Shelby looks pissed. “Language,Fred.”

“Shelby, it’s my house. If I want to say ‘pissed,’ I can say it however many times thatIwant.”

Eyes narrowing, Shelby seethes, “Don’t you dare, Fred Elliott Mackenzie. Don’t . . .you. . .dare.”

Well, I think this is our cue. I nudge Tia again with my foot, jerking my head toward the doorway that leads to the living room. She nods curtly in silent agreement. We grab our plates, utensils, and glasses of water, and stealthily escapethefray.

Not that there’s need for any stealth, because Dad and Shelby have erupted into a fight that borders on the nonsensical. I enter the living room just as my dad breaks out into a song that consists only of the word, “pissed.” He hits the high notes like a champ, then drops his voice down to an Elvis-Presley-worthycroon.

Back in the day, before he opened an Italian restaurant and lost his soul to meatballs, fettuccini, and marinara sauce, I recall my dad having dreams of becoming a professionalsinger.

Apparently, this is as close as he getsnowadays.

I follow Tia up the flight of stairs to the second level of the house. Second door on the right is hers, and we quickly settle in on the carpeted floor, picnic-style, with the door half-cracked.

“I’m sorry,” she mutters, sounding so morose that my gaze immediately jumps toherface.

“Forwhat?”

She points to the floor in indication of the adults who aren’t acting like adults. “You know—about DadandMom.”

I hide my wince. Growing up, it had only ever been my mom and I. Two women against the world. Marsha Mackenzie (she never reverted back to her maiden name) has never been inclined to date, perhaps because her relationship with Dad was so toxic. Even now, she prefers to go out with her girlfriends for cocktails over spending time withaman.

Sure, I never had the ideal family unit, but I would take my childhood over Tia’s any day. In the six months since I’ve moved in, there hasn’t been a day where Dad and Shelby haven’t broken out the figurative knives and sharpened them on each other’sflesh.

“It’s okay,” I tell my sister, as I kick off my shoes and tuck my legs under me. I still haven’t changed out of my interview outfit, so the slim-fitting dress inches up my thighs. Since it’s only Tia, I don’t bother to shield her from my black Spanx. “Don’t worry aboutit,T.”

Her thin shoulders lift with a shuddery breath. “But you got the job, and I know you’re going toleavesoon.”

As much as I want to get out of this house on a permanent basis, the thought of hurting Tia breaks my heart. So, I go for the slip-around-the-issue option. “What? Where am I going to live if I do that? In the BostonCommons?”

She giggles, just as I intended her to. “Are you going to put upatent?”

I fake-glare at my half-finished plate of food. “I don’t haveatent.”

The idea of me being tent-less sparks more laughter from my sister, evil creature that she is. “What if it rains?” sheprompts.

“Guess I’m going to besoaked.”

“What if itsnows?”

I pin her with an expression of pure horror and she howls with laughter. “Are you trying to make sure that I never want to leave this house?” Idemand.

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