Page 86 of Serial Killer Games

“Any new developments in the world of ‘temping’?”

Needle, needle, needle. It’s what he does best.

“No,” I say pleasantly.

“Any new developments at all?”

“No.” I put on my happy idiot smile, the one he hates.

“It didn’t last long with that woman,” Andrew says, forking quiche into his mouth. Maybe if I shocked him, he’d choke.

“It’s lasting just fine. We got married,” I announce.

“What?” Laura says incredulously, her fork pinging off the edge of her plate as it falls from her hand.

“We eloped.”

Laura’s face goes still. “What…?” Her mouth forms several other words, but no sound comes out. Andrew continues shoveling quiche like nothing in his universe has changed.

“Dodi and I got married.”

“Her name’s Dodi?” Laura says. I never even told her hername. She’d asked me to call her after that dinner, and I never did. Laura stares at me, and I realize with a sinking feeling that I’ve hurt her. I’ve hurt her very badly.

I want to tell Laura everything—well, almost everything—but not with Andrew there twisting and distorting all the facts in his narrow, disagreeable mind.

“Where is she now? Why isn’t she here for Christmas?” Laura asks.

Andrew scoffs. “He’s not serious. He spouted this nonsense about getting married by Elvis at the restaurant.” But as he reaches for the salt near my setting, his eyes fall on the band on my left hand.

“Isthat a wedding ring?”

I say nothing.

Andrew stares me down with gunmetal eyes. “Are you going to answer me?”

It’s funny how certain phrases punch dusty old buttons in our psyche. I was a twenty-nine-year-old adult male until that sentence was uttered, and now I’m a nine-year-old child just arrived on the doorstep of these two strangers, frozen, sick to my stomach. The moment passes.

“I can see how much respect you have for your family,” Andrew says.

Under the table I cross my fingers for another ice spell. All I want for Christmas is a few days of stonewalling. Andrew stands up and tosses his napkin onto the table next to his unfinished plate, and Laura and I go still.

He’s like an ice-capped, dormant volcano. We feel the tremors beneath our feet, and every time we wonder if today’s the day—

“Disappointing, but not surprising,” he says quietly, ice cap glacially cold and intact. Christmas comes early: he leaves.From the dining room we hear him put on his coat and shoes and let himself out of the house. Somehow in twenty years he hasn’t realized that flouncing out isn’t quite the punishment he thinks it is.

It takes several minutes for the temperature of the room to go back to normal. When I look at Laura, she’s pale and faded, like a bit of paper bleached by the sun.

“I don’t blame you for eloping,” she says.

“I’m sorry.”

“I would have liked to get to know her. I mean, Iwouldlike to get to know her.You’re married.” She flaps her hands weakly. “You met someone, and fell in love, andgot married. And I had no idea.”

“I’m sorry.”

She waves her hands at me exasperatedly. “This isgoodnews. Where is she?”

“She’s at her place. She…” I cast about for a way to not lie too much. “Eloping was an impulse. We haven’t been together very long. We decided to stick to our original Christmas plans.”

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