Page 108 of The Love Bandits

I glance back at the house, and Damien and Nicole are standing in the doorway waving to us like they’re proud parents.

“Is it just me,” I mutter, “or do you feel like we’re kids they’re sending off to school?”

“I think that’s exactly what they’re doing,” she says. “They’re letting us handle this.”

Or letting us think they are.

She starts driving, and my heart thumps an unnatural rhythm, like she’s taking me to my doom rather than a tea with a dysfunctional family.

It’s only then that I register that I’ve done zero additional research about which methods a therapist might use at ameeting like this. “Do you think it matters that I still don’t know dick all about therapy?”

She laughs, a breezy sweet sound that helps settle me. A bit. “No, actually. I’m guessing none of them have been to therapy. And in this case, I don’t think the best outcome is for them to suddenly get along and weave friendship bracelets together.” Her lips press together. “Nina’s got to go.”

I nod, knowing both of us are thinking of blond dick. When Anthony told me he was going to Nina’s friend’s party the other night, I just barely kept myself from asking if the host was a blond guy. He deserves a warning. Mrs. Rosings knows about the stolen jewelry, though, and given the lengths she’s gone to in order to prevent this marriage, I think we can count on her pulling through for us.

Too soon, Elaine pulls up to Anthony’s house. She parks at the curb because there are already four cars in the driveway.

“Looks different from the front,” I tell her, my mouth hitching up.

“Good,” she says with an answering smile, “because we’ve never been here before.”

“I absolutely didn’t fuck you in their closet and get hit in the head by a kickball.”

“Why do you think they even have a kickball? You think they take it out for some pick-up games with Mrs. Rosings?”

I lean in and kiss her, feeling a pulse of gratitude for this one thing in my life that’s suddenly right, and then we pile out of the car.

When we get to the door, Nina answers it. She has a tight, ungenerous smile and is wearing a sweater set with pearls. “So glad you could make it,” she says. “Yourfriendis already here.”

She shows us into the living room we swept through two nights ago. It hasn’t noticeably changed, although someone removed the framed pictures that were propped against the wall.

Mrs. Rosings is sitting in an overstuffed armchair, her back as straight as a queen’s, and Anthony is sitting beside her on an adjacent loveseat, wearing an expensive dress shirt and slacks, like he’s dressing for the job he has but not necessarily the one he wants. He smiles at me, but there’s no real happiness in the expression. He’s on edge, caught between two women he doesn’t understand or necessarily like.

The only happy person in the room is Joy, who has already set up the tea service on the coffee table, complete with a two-tier snack tray, savory on the bottom and sweet up top. Elaine’s friend Rosie is standing with her, but there’s something off about her. She’s chewing on the ends of her hair as if they’d been dipped in sugar.

“Oh good, you’ve deigned to bless us with your presence,” Mrs. Rosings says without rising from her chair. “Do sit.”

It’s clearly an order, not a request, and even though my natural response to orders is to give them the middle finger and walk out, I do as I’m told and sit on the loveseat. Elaine settles onto the cushion beside me, and Rosie makes sure everyone has a cup of steaming tea that I don’t have the slightest inclination to drink.

I hate tea. I’ve hated it ever since we stayed with our third foster family. The mother always plied everyone with tea, and if you didn’t drink it, you were failing her.

It looks like everyone else has been sipping from their cups, though, and I don’t want to insult Joy, so when Lainey lifts her cup for a sip, I pretend to do the same.

“Well, thank you all for coming,” Nina says, joining us and reprising her place beside Anthony. She picks up a half-drunk cup of tea and takes another sip. “Can you tell us a bit about the tea you prepared for us, Joy? It’sdelicious.”

Anthony wobbles a little in his seat, making me wonder if he has a flask on his person.

Joy smiles beatifically at Nina, then spreads her smile around as if she doesn’t mind sharing. “It’s a special blend with some ingredients that I grow myself. Very enlightening.” She pointedly winks at me.

Everyone falls silent, and it hits me that they’re all looking my way. If I were really Therapist Jake Jeffries, I’d have something to say about everyone getting along. Maybe lead a group round of “Kumbaya.” If I were a different kind of guy, a careful one, I’m sure I would have spent the last few days buried in psychology books instead of buried in Lainey, but I have no regrets. On my tombstone, if anyone bothers to get one for me, it’ll say:At least he enjoyed himself.

But we’re here to get them talking, so get them talking I will.

“Why don’t we play a little game?” I say, setting my tea cup and plate down on the coffee table.

“I’m not averse to playing games,” Mrs. Rosings says, then shifts her head to study Nina. “Are you, dear?”

“Not at all,” she says tightly, glancing at Anthony. “Ilovekickball.”

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