Page 31 of sWitch

“No-no,” Fauna nervously squeaked. “Not sports games, no.”

“Other games, then? Perhaps of the more feminine persuasion?” Mom slid a not-so-sly glance between Fauna and me.

Mary Jane changed the subject, thankfully. “These crystal wine glasses are vintage, aren’t they?”

With a click of her tongue, my mom slowly turned her attention back to the table. “Oh, yes, dear. Those were a gift from the prince of Paris.”

“There’s no prince of Paris, Mom,” Trevor mumbled as he and Mary Jane fought to conceal their smiles at each other.

Smiling at each other? MJ only ever rolled her eyes at me. Wait a damn minute…

“Coach Monroe, as my kids call him, is a very talented athlete,” Mary Jane spoke up. “Really, your son is remarkable.”

My mother giggled. “I knew it. My instincts for character chemistry are never wrong. You’re all mixed up—all of you?—“

“What ismixed up,” my dad interjected with that booming CEO timbre, “is the twins’ situation.”

“Fuck, right when the wine runs out.” I tipped the empty bottle over my sad, lonely glass. “Sorry, go ahead, Mr. Monroe. Let’s hear it.”

Fauna shot me a sympathetic look, like she knew what was coming. My crush, the girlfriend I needed to break up with, my brother, mother, and the host of servers lined against the wall pretending not to listen—but who were actually listening intently—were about to hear all about what a disappointment I was.

Luckily, I was too drunk to care.

“There are not adequate words to convey how difficult it is to watch your child squander their potential.” Dad shook his head, and I prepared for an onslaught. He’d never gone in on me like this so publicly.

“I-I disagree with you, sir,” Fauna said with a small tremble in her voice. She was so nervous, and I didn’t need her to defend me, or worse—bear the brunt of my dad’s ire.

“It’s fine. I’m fine,” I assured her.

Fauna shook her head. “It’s not fine.” She addressed my dad, “Remy is a hard worker, a great friend, and a talented musician. They aren’t squandering anything.”

My mother giggled and nodded, like her suspicions were more and more confirmed as the night lagged on. This whole dinner was a ticking bomb.

My dad raised a quizzical eyebrow. “Remy? I’m not talking about Remy. Of course, I am proud of them and their accomplishments.”

I think my jaw hit the table. Something clanked. “What?”

Dad looked at me like I was an idiot for not understanding his meaning and elaborated with a wave of his hand. “Remy is a self-starter, just like I was at your age. I began my countertop supply shop with nothing but a slab of unfinished quartz and a knack for sales. Remy is building a trade, a craft, in their line of business.” He glanced at me. “Now, I may not understand why anyone would jab holes in their nose or cover themselves in garish ink…but I respect showing up to a job every day, working your way up, and, beyond that, pursing artistic endeavors such as musical instruments. Naturally, I am pleased with Remy. There’s a bit of me and a bit of your mother in there.” Dad winked.

“I’ve time hopped. I’ve switched realities,” I awed. “Dr. Who’s Tardis will slam into the dining room at any moment now… Then who are you disappointed in?”

“Trevor, of course.” Dad answered plainly.

Trevor’s face burned red—from either embarrassment or anger, I couldn’t be sure. My twin sense was telling me it was a mix of both. My family did love a public flogging—though I’d never seen one directed at the perfect twin.

“Dad, are you serious? Trevor is a fucking star,” I defended.

Mr. Monroe scoffed. “Good grades get you nowhere in the real world. I never went to college and I turned out fine.” He gestured to the opulence of the room. “And don’t get me started on kicking a ball for a living. When will you learn, son? The family business awaits, and you’re playing games.”

Trevor let out a breath and threw his napkin on the table. “Kicking a ball happens to be what I love most in this world, Dad, but thanks for sharing your opinion, and in front of my—” He looked to Mary Jane and then to Fauna before looking to me in panic.

Oh? Oh, fuck.

Mother hiccuped and pointed between us. “Told ya so!”

Dad stood. “You bring in this little girl and expect me to be impressed? I’ve told you for years you needed to choose the right partner, someone to join in on our family legacy—and this is what you bring us? This meek little mousey thing?”

I stood then, my chair falling back. “Watch it, old man. Don’t you dare speak about Fauna like that. This fucking house burns like any other, and I will be the one lighting the match if you ever make her feel the slightest bit inferior again.”

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