Page 32 of Bordeaux Bombshell
1. Favorite color?
2. Favorite movie?
3. Favorite food?
With a grin, I pull the cap off the cheap pen that was dropped on the table by one of the young girls and start scribbling. I’m halfway through this ridiculously easy game when Manon makes a sexy little chuckle.
“Well, since I do not know Kel, I think I shall answer these about someone Idoknow.” She pulls an expensive-looking pen from her purse—of course the floozie brought her own—and starts looping it across the page and talking to herself. “Favorite color? Blue. Favorite movie?Indiana Jones. Terrible movie.”
Her words sink in, and I freeze in the middle of a word. That’s not Kel’s favorite movie. But itisNate’s. And Kel’s favorite color is red. Blue ismyfavorite color. And Nate’s. I can’t even count the number of times he and I came to blows over board-game markers and various other colored tchotchkes as kids. The only time it was ever convenient was when planning our years of shared birthday parties.
The bitch absolutely knows who I am. She’s doing this on purpose, and the knowledge sinks into my gut like an anchor. I knock back the rest of my cocktail and get to work. This wench isabout to learn the hard way that I not only grew up chasing those boys but learned how to fight dirty from them too.
“What superhero would he be?” I muse out loud. Leaning forward, I reach across the table, tapping to get Jackie’s attention. “Gosh, Jackie, remember how Nate and Kel would argue over who was better, Batman or Superman?”
“Goodness, I’d forgotten, Sydney. You’re right.” She nudges Mom, who looks up from her page with a distracted air. “Of course, I couldn’t tell you which side those boys took. Do you remember, Rebecca?”
They start reminiscing, smiling over the happy memories I reminded them of.Point to me. I smirk before flicking my ponytail back over my shoulder. “Of courseIknow, but I’m not telling. Although, considering Kel was an emergency room nurse for years, I would think the answer was obvious.” With an exaggerated glance around the table, I purposefully catch Manon’s eye before writing “Batman” on my sheet.
I’m just getting started, bitch, and I have enough stories to do this all damn day.
Manon hums beside me. “Dream vacation?” She leans back in her seat, pen tapping the table. “Avignon is always lovely. I have many…happy…memories from there. A plan for the future, no?”
I scowl at her, recalling Nate describing his visit to Avignon and the Rhone Valley. As I look up, Jackie is elbowing Mom, side-eyeing me. Instead of reacting, I pick up my champagne and chug it, eyes watering from the bubbles fizzing up my nose.
“Ah, first job. I think I can guess this one—Nate often told me of the many harvests he and Kel helped with as children.” She pauses, then turns a knowing look on me. “Didn’t they have to throw away a whole cask because you jumped in and started stomping it with your shoes on? I do remember Nathaniel telling me many stories aboutl’enfant terrible.” She winks across thetable, eliciting laughter from everyone else, especially my mom. Traitor.
For the record, I was ten when the boys blindfolded and tossed me in, screaming about it being the wood chipper. They didn’t have to toss the grapes because I had shoes on, but because I was so scared I’d peed my pants.
Andtheywere the ones who got grounded for it, not me.
Pushing back my chair, I swipe a half-empty champagne glass off the table, not caring whose it is, before I finish it off. “Fuck this.” I’m being too loud, and I know it, but I can’t seem to control my temper. “We get it, Manon, you fucked Nate when he was in Bordeaux. But guess what?” Heat fills my cheeks, maybe from the alcohol, maybe because the room has fallen silent and everyone is staring at me, but the words keep coming. “He came home. The second Kel called and said we needed him, he was on a plane. He came back to us becausewe’rehis family, not you.”
Oh god, oh god. I need to stop talking. I need to shut the fuck up. Maybe this could all have been salvageable, but my mouth keeps going without my permission. “You may have taught him how to do that fancy little tongue swirl, but guess who he’s been doing it to? I’ll give you one guess—not you!”
My mom’s quick gasp and horrified “Sydney Anne!” is the only sound as I stomp away from the table.
I’m halfway across the room, feeling about as small as a rodent, when someone snags my arm and pulls me into a chair. Someone else pops to their feet, shouting “Bingo!” into the pregnant silence.
Sydney
Theroomeruptsintochatter mixed with laughter. Daisy is calling out for people to finish up as I hunker down between Sophie and Lauren. “Oh my god, what is wrong with me?” I bury my face in my hands, shoulders hunched, as if that could hide me from the eyes of all these women. “Someone please put me out of my misery.”
A hand rubs circles on my back while a chair scrapes the floor. I risk a peek and see Emma sitting back down on the other side of Sophie. She gives me a little smile and wave, mouthing something I don’t catch.
“Just sit here quietly for a minute. I’m sure it will all blow over soon.” Sophie’s tone is as soothing as the circles she’s making on my back. My cheeks flame up again when I catch a few stares from the next table.
Someone snorts on my other side, and I turn to find Lauren squatting in the gap between my chair and the next. “It won’t.But Sydney is going to sit here with us anyway and ride it out because A) that was epic, and B) she’s giving Meg Ryan main character energy right now, and I want to soak it in.”
Groaning, I bury my face back in my hands. “I don’twantmain character energy. I just want to crawl into a hole and die.”
Lauren snorts. “No one wants it while it’s happening, girlfriend. But it’s awesome for the rest of us.” She laughs, followed by the smacking of hands over my head.
“Don’t be mean, you two.” Sophie tsks and resumes rubbing my back. “Have you tried one of the cucumber sandwiches? They’re just delightful.”
Distracted by the array of snacks and sweets on the table, I let the conversation carry on around me. Jesus, what was I thinking? I wisely stay silent during the next game, filling my mouth with scones and clotted cream instead of my foot.
Sophie and Lauren keep a running commentary going—of the games, the answers, and some book they both read last week. Despite seeing them at Sunshine regularly for the last few years, I’ve never paid that much attention to their relationship. They banter with each other like the love interests in an old rom-com, and it fascinates me. They make having a girlfriend seem so easy.
