Kiss Her Once for Me (38)

Dylan points accusingly at Jack as she takes what appears to be homemade strawberry compote out of the fridge. “She punched me in the face.”

“Interesting friendship origin story,” I observe. “Why did you punch them in the face, exactly?”

“Because they were being a dick,” Jack answers matter-of-factly.

Dylan slams down their mug. “Okay, first of all, I was seven—”

“Seven-year-olds can be dicks,” Jack interrupts.

“And second, I was going through some heavy stuff at the time….”

Andrew rolls his eyes and turns to me. “We all met because our dads worked together. And because Lake Oswego is overwhelmingly white, so the few kids of color had to stick together on the Lake Grove playground.”

“That’s how we knew each other,” Dylan clarifies. “But Jack and I only became friends because she punched me in the face at recess.”

Jack looks mildly apologetic about resorting to violence. “They were bullying some first graders. What was I supposed to do?”

“Oh, I definitely deserved it. Jack punched me in the face, and then she immediately took me to the nurse to get it iced and sat next to me on the cot until the bleeding stopped, and I just knew in that moment that I would love her chaotic-good ass for the rest of my days. Besides.” Dylan clears their throat. “Sometimes I need a good punch in the face. I can be a bit… confrontational.”

I take another sip of coffee. “I hadn’t noticed.”

“And domineering,” Andrew says. “You can also be domineering.”

“And antagonistic,” Jack adds, peeling a waffle off the griddle. “And just plain mean.”

“Okay, that’s enough from both of you, thanks.” Dylan scowls, but it lacks the bite of last night. They swivel toward me on their barstool, our knees creating the points on an obtuse angle. “Jack gave me a metaphorical punch in the face last night and made it clear that I, uh… owe you an apology. For what you overheard outside.”

Dylan scratches their neck, right over the ink of their knife tattoo, and pushes out the next few words like they cause great physical and mental anguish. “So, I’m sorry.” Dylan immediately cuts their gaze to Jack. “Is that a sufficient apology for you?”

“You undermined it a bit there in the end, but—”

“Extra points for the execution of humility,” Andrew says. “I know that’s hard for you to pull off.”

Dylan glowers. “Welcome to the family, Ellie. It sucks here.”

I take a sip of my delicious black coffee. It really doesn’t seem so bad here.

“Oh, come on.” Andrew reaches across the counter to jostle Dylan’s shoulder. “You love us.”

Dylan chokes on a sip of their coffee. Andrew takes several steps back from Dylan, the hand that was on Dylan’s shoulder now rumpling his own hair. Alexa starts playing Avril’s “Complicated.”

Very subtle, Alexa.

And when I look away from Andrew and Dylan, I catch Jack staring at me from across the countertop; I quickly drop my gaze down to the laminated schedule on the counter.

Awkward interactions between Jack and Ellie: 192 hours.





Chapter Eleven


First family walk in the snow: two hours involves matching Christmas sweaters.

“Okay!” Katherine claps her hands together enthusiastically as we finish brunch. “It’s Jacqueline’s year to choose the Christmas sweaters.” Katherine shoots her daughter a weary look. “And hopefully, this time, she took that duty seriously.”

“Sugar,” Jack says in a perfect imitation of Meemaw, “I take everything seriously.”

Jack takes very few things seriously, as evidenced by the reusable New Seasons bags she produces, containing some of the most outlandish Christmas sweaters I’ve ever seen. Her own says “Don We Now Our Gay Apparel,” Andrew’s is somehow sexually suggestive and festive, Katherine’s is three sizes too big, and Lovey’s has a picture of a Christmas tree and the words “Get Lit” across the top. Dylan’s features a tower of presents arranged to look like either a raised middle finger or an erect penis. Regardless, Dylan gives their best friend an approving chin nod. “This is dope.”

I end up with the extra Christmas sweater, and it’s an absolute atrocity with tinsel dangling from the waist, a weird RBG-style fringe around the neckline, and two dozen plastic presents sticking out from my breasts. Jack hides her laughter behind a well-timed cough. “That looks very nice on you, Ellie,” she manages.

I glare. “Is this some kind of Kim-Prescott hazing ritual?”

Jack arches one eyebrow and shrugs. “Think of it more like a rite of passage.”

“Really, Jacqueline.” Katherine looks slightly horrified by her tent sweater with the words “In a World of Grinches, Be a Griswold” in loopy script across her middle. “Is this what you’ll have us wearing on next year’s Christmas card?”

“Absolutely,” Jack says with a solemn nod. About this, she is perfectly serious. “I think Christmas 2023 is going to need some levity.”

“I think these are perfect!” Meemaw does a little twirl. Her sweater has flashing lights and plays “Jingle Bells” on a loop.