Page 17 of Not Just a Trick Play

She smirks, sadistically entertained by my pain and suffering. “Can you blame her? I mean, her youngest child is all grown up and into BDSM.”

Before I’m able to protest, my mother’s voice floats through from inside. “Jake? Honey, is that you?”

“Hey, Mom,” I call out. I sigh, gird my loins, and trail Helena into the belly of the beast, passing the life-sized skeleton all decked out on my way to the living room. By the time Mom’s done with me, I’ll be a perfect stand-in for it. Most of the coven is present, surprise, surprise. Beatrice, Heidi, and Carla all wear varying degrees of nosy on their faces.

Best not to meet their eyes lest I turn to stone, so I inspect the horror extravaganza surrounding me.

It’s barely October, but Halloween decorating is in full swing. A life-sized vampire stands by the kitchen door, and the dining table sports a werewolf torso—a furry reminder of the twins’ embarrassing Twilight obsession.

The house is a never-ending holiday mash-up: pumpkins morph into turkeys, and the Christmas tree is up so early, Santa could just move in. Right until Cupid kicks him out in February.

Mom’s turned the fireplace into a graveyard again, complete with headstones for all of us; there’s even a tiny tombstone to mark the arrival of Lillian, my latest niece, bringing the total count of rug rats to seven. At this rate, we’re going to need a separate cemetery plot for next year’s inevitable additions. Baby fever spreads faster than gossip around here, and with the wayCarla’s been eyeing B’s new daughter, it’s only a matter of time before she decides her preschooler needs a sidekick.

“How are you?” Mom approaches.

Her expression is benign, but looks can be deceiving. She raised six children. Most of her shoulder-length hair is the same color we all share, though she attributes the few silvers (she refuses to call them grays) to us. A whole patch is dedicated to me.

“I’m fine.” I hedge, backing up a step. And then another. My eyes dart to the escape routes—door, windows—but every exit is blocked. Doomed. I exhale a slow breath of resignation and let Mom close in, stooping so she can hug me without tiptoeing.

“So,” she starts, shifting back and crossing her arms over her chest, the universal sign of mom-quiry.

Here we go.I maneuver around her and head for the kitchen. Every interrogation requires sustenance.

“Jake.” My mother and her spawn follow.

Next to the fridge, Lurch from the Addams Family presents his customary fruit platter. Today, however, he’s sporting a Nurture NYC cap. Fuck.

I stifle a groan. The hat is a glaring, embroidered billboard of the very topic I’m desperate to avoid. I grab an apple and bite into it. “You saw the photo?” Might as well nibble around the edges of conversation before biting into the core issue.

“The one where I saw more of my babybear-ing it all than I have in years?”

“Don’t exaggerate, Mom. You’ve seen me in swim trunks.”

A snort. “Whatever. You’ve scarred me for life.” She tilts her head, bringing the back of her hand to her forehead in a fake swoon. Ladies and gentlemen, my mother, the joker.

I smirk and take another bite. “At least you know you made a good-looking child.”

She straightens. “I’ve made many good-looking children.” Har.

I point at myself. “Yep, and you finally achieved perfection.”

Mom laughs.

“Well?” Beatrice prompts.

With a heavy sigh, I provide the cliff notes version. “There’s not much to say. I met a woman at a bar. She brought me to her apartment, chained me up, took the photo. Then another woman came along. Let me go. The end.”

A shocked silence follows.

“Jacob Brandon Cunningham, did you participate in a threesome?” Mom’s voice is stern.

It’s a wonder I don’t asphyxiate on the apple chunk in my mouth. I choke it out, then whip around to face her. “No. I didnothave a threesome.” This time. I’m not shy about my sexual exploits, but fuck no—my mother shouldn’t be imagining me having sex. With any number of partners. “The first woman, the one who cuffed me…” I avert my gaze and mumble, “Ran off.”

Any other day, I’d get a kick out of the gawking. That it’s come at my expense sucks away some of the joy.

“Jake! I thought I taught you about stranger danger.” Mom’s hands settle on her hips.

I ignore her, instead finishing up the rest of the apple before shooting the core into the compost bin without hitting the edges. Yep, I’m a boss. Should’ve considered a spot with the NBA in a state far, far away. Alas, my exit strategy only gets me as far as the living room, pesky shadows hot on my heels.

---