Page 132 of F*ckboys

Chapter 75

Fallon

The clinking of silverware on fine china plates fills the elegant dining room. I glance around at my polished family gathered around the long mahogany table. Cheston and Link chat about work while Bronson loses himself in thought, no doubt pondering a case. Colton whispers something to Fenton, eliciting a chuckle from my brother. Probably a golf joke, I roll my eyes.

Zara emerges from the kitchen, her face flushed from pretending to cook, and from the couple of martinis she sucked down when she thought nobody was looking, her arms laden with a succulent pot roast. It was no doubt lovingly prepared by an underpaid staff member at the local bougie grocery store, but let's let stepmother dearest take the credit. Despite thequestionable origins of the meal, I have to admit that the savory aroma makes my mouth water. As she sets the platter down, my father stands to carve.

"Let's give thanks," he rumbles in his deep voice. Heads bow. The scrape of chair legs fills the silence as we sit and begin passing dishes.

At first, it seems like a typical Dempsey family dinner. The conversation flows as freely as the wine Link pours. But when talk turns to ancestors, an undercurrent of weird tension and tomfoolery simmers beneath the surface.

Bronson's fork clatters onto his plate. "Remember Great-Aunt Mathilde?"

Cheston nearly chokes on his mouthful of pot roast. "The burlesque dancer?"

Awkward glances bounce around the table and Aksel looks at me with a bemused expression. Leave it to Bronson to dredge up random family secrets.

"Well, she certainly was...adventurous," Dad says delicately, sipping his wine.

"Adventurous? She was a badass!" Bronson exclaims. "Shaking her tassels in Paris nightclubs. Makes our family tree a little more interesting, eh?"

I stifle a laugh at the thought of our conservative lineage having a risqué burlesque dancer in its ranks. Bronson has a knack for challenging propriety and making self-deprecating yet zinging-ly accurate jokes about our family.

Link cracks up, and everyone turns to him in anticipation. "Well, if you think that's something... it turns out our mild-mannered cousin Rodney isn't just an accountant..."

He pauses, glancing around the table. "He also moonlights as a kinky ventriloquist."

A stunned silence settles over the room. Then the laughter starts, slowly at first, but soon becoming raucous.

"A kinky ventriloquist?" Fenton guffaws. "Are you serious? What does that even mean?"

Link laughs and nods, taking a giant gulp of his wine. "Yeah, so he told me all about it at cousin Deb's birthday last year. I guess it started as a silly hobby, but he's actually gotten quite good. He performs at adult clubs on the weekends."

"Does he bring his dummy on dates, too?" Fenton jokes.

"As a matter of fact, yes, he does. Apparently, Mr. Wiggles is very popular with the ladies. At least the way cousin Rodney tells it," Link says with a perfectly straight face.

The family erupts into renewed laughter. I study their reactions—Dad shaking his head in amusement, Zara covering her mouth to hide her shocked grin.

Link makes a show of shrugging nonchalantly. "I know it's a bit weird, but he says it's quite fun and lucrative. Much more interesting than crunching numbers."

The juxtaposition of our cousin's buttoned-up exterior and his risqué double life adds an absurd humor to the situation. But underneath the laughter, there's a growing sense of acceptance, of embracing the quirks that make each of us unique.

As the family continues excavating our past, I glance at Aksel, wondering how he's processing these revelations. His own family, so notorious, so mysterious.

"Well, I may as well come clean too," he says suddenly, an impish grin spreading across his face. "Did I ever tell you my great-uncle was a mob boss in Sicily?"

Gasps erupt around the table. Of course, there had always been speculation, but I never imagined the day would come where he'd come straight out and say it.

"Oh yes, the Morettis were quite the infamous crime family back in the day," Aksel continues breezily. "Uncle Salvatore ran all the rackets on the island. Gambling, bootlegging, you name it. I know there have always been whispers, so I figured I mightas well just come out and say it seeing we're among family and friends here."

I glance around to see my family's reactions, and I'm not sure whether it's the wine or something more, but everyone is smiling and nodding, and there's the occasional shrug as if to say 'hey, we're not surprised, but thanks for sharing.'

He takes a swig of wine. "And, on perhaps a far lighter note, my grandparents were quite the progressives. They were founding members of a very avant-garde sex club in the 70s. I don't like to think about it in too much detail, but our family's skeletons extend far beyond the bounds of King Industries. Let's just say the estate wasn't just known for stuffy white tie events…"

Raucous laughter fills the room. Trust Aksel to match our eccentric tales with his own outrageous family secrets.

Under the candlelight, faces flush with amusement. The food sits almost forgotten as stories flow late into the night.

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