Page 20 of First Comes Revenge

“Who is he?”

“Who is who?”

“The man who has you hornier than a teenager at Bible Camp.”

I try not to smile, but fail. “That’s terrible, Meemaw.”

“What? Do you even know what happens at those camps?” She looks up and crosses her chest, but I notice she does the gesture in the wrong order. “No offense, Lord.”

“You told me you two weren’t talking at the moment.”

“Oh, I’ve changed my ways. I’m eighty-two, Charli. Me and the Big Guy are going to meet pretty soon. I’ve got to start making things right.” She gives me a big wink, as if to say she’s just playing nice with God, and as if he wouldn’t be able to see her wink.

“You probably shouldn’t talk bad about his Bible Camps, then,” I say, smirking.

“Right, right. Well, what has you hornier than a youth counselor in skinny jeans leading a room full of preteen girls, then?”

I press my palms to my face. “I’m not horny. And you know I don’t feel comfortable talking about that kind of stuff with you.”

“That’s what makes it so fun.”

For an old woman, she moves quickly. While my face is in my hands, she scoots closer, putting her in the chair right beside me at the dinner table. For some reason, she’s also drinking my water. “Who is he?” She elbows me.

“No one. Just this guy who texts too much.”

As if he can sense he’s being talked about, Jameson sends another message. My phone buzzes. Meemaw gets her paws on it before I can–somehow.

Her eyes bulge as she reads the message preview. “I can’t see the whole thing. Unlock it for me.”

“No!” I say, laughing and snatching the phone from her. I glance at the preview of his message and see he couldn’t have started any worse.

Jameson:What cup size are you? I’m thinking we could–

I sigh. “It’s not as bad as that sounds.” He has been asking questions about my clothing size for the Halloween costume.

“Doesn’t sound bad at all,” Meemaw says. “You know I used to be a G cup. Ever heard of the motor boat? Boys would–”

“Meemaw,” I say carefully. “If I have to picture boys motorboating your G cups, I’m going to vomit.”

“Notthese” she says, like I’m being stupid. “My younger self. Sorry, Lord, but I need to educate the youth so they’re ready to go be fertile and multiply,” she says to the ceiling. “Anyway, you know, your grandfather loved to–”

“Nope. No.” I plug my ears.

She’s smiling her typical, shit-eating Meemaw grin. I know she’s not actually as depraved as she lets on. She was a troll before the internet learned what trolling was.

Dani and Maddie come to the table, saving me from more one on one with Meemaw. Maddie is sixteen and going through an “I’m a deep and emotionally scarred suburban girl with a tortured past and the music I listen to is my entire identity” phase. She has headphones in both ears and she’s wearing an oversized bright green outfit that clashes with her dyed blue hair.

She curls her lips up just a touch when our eyes meet. Somewhere inside all that moody pretending is my little sister who still likes to try to eat all the cookie dough before any of it makes it to the oven. Just a year ago, she always wore pink and she was still doing ballet.

Dani looks between me and Meemaw. “Are you harassing Charli, Meemaw? I told you to go easy on her. She just had a tough breakup.”

“Oh, I know. She paid the price for not listening to my elderly wisdom. I told her that boy was no good. Small penis, too, probably.”

Maddie chokes on her water. Apparently, she’s wearing the earbuds right now as an “aesthetic” choice and not actually listening to anything. I’m only eight years older than her, but sometimes I feel like we’re from different planets.

“No comment,” I say.

“No comment needed,” Meemaw says. “When a woman gets a really good dicking down, it’s impossible to hide it. And baby, you haven’t been hiding anything since you were with that boy.”

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