Page 102 of Every Silent Lie
“Why would you feel scrutinised?”
“She’s your older sister. That’s what they do. Like if I had an older brother.”
“Ummm, you do have an older brother, Camryn.”
“Not one that likes me.”
“Oh my God,” he breathes, exasperated. “Look, I’m not asking you to come today. It would send April into a tailspin, anyway. She’s one of these women who has to have everything perfect. An extra guest would throw out her ratios on food per person.” He rolls his eyes when I laugh. “But I want you to meet the people I love.”
“You have more siblings?”
“No, just April. And her husband, Blaine.”
“Oh.”
He slams a kiss on my mouth and stands. “I’ll take you home.”
“You or Ron?”
“Me. Ron doesn’t work weekends. Neither does Lynette.”
I watch him strut away, pulling his sweatpants down as he goes. Disappointment slides through me, and I pout, just getting a peek of his yummy backside before I lose him to the bathroom.
Snowflakes gently float down around us as we stand side by side outside my building looking at Mr. Percival’s turkey. “I suppose I could put it in my freezer,” I say, as Dec crouches and pokes at the tarpaulin now covering the wire netting, the rocks pinning it down perfectly in place. “If it’ll fit.” I tilt my head, mentally measuring it. “I mean, it’s a monster, and I saw his freezer. It’s rammed full of various Christmas treats he’s been preparing. He must be feeding five thousand.”
Dec rises, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Weird old man.”
“He’s nearly one hundred, so he can be anything he wants to be.” I push the door open slowly and gently and creep over the threshold.
“What are you doing?” Dec asks from behind me.
“Trying to get into my apartment without being accosted.”
“By the weird old man?”
“He’s taken it upon himself to be my guardian angel. I think he’s lonely. Or bored.” I hold the door open, looking over my shoulder. “You don’t need to walk me to my door.”
“I want to.” Dec pushes the door open with brute force, and I wince when it ricochets off the wall behind it.
“Shhh,” I hiss. And two seconds later, Mr. Percival’s door swings open. “Shit.”
“Ah, the walk of shame,” he sings, chuckling to himself.
“It’s not the walk of shame, Mr. Percival, if I’m not ashamed.”
He hobbles out of his flat, popping his flat cap on, eyeing Dec. “What are your intentions?”
Dec balks at him. “Excuse me?”
“With the lovely Camryn. What are your intentions, son?”
“My intentions?”
“Yes, your intentions.”
“I . . .” Dec looks at me, and I shrug, at a loss. “What are yours?” he fires back.
“Mine?”
