The Buy-In (Graham Brothers #1)(57)

Deedee talks like she stepped straight out of another decade, which I usually find amusing, but tonight I’m distracted by her red-rimmed eyes. Looks like my theory about a breakup with Mark is indeed correct. As if to illustrate the point, she wipes away a tear, and we both pretend not to notice.

“Sorry,” I tell her. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Want me to finish?”

I look down, seeing the clear line of how far she reached with the scrubbing. “Nah. I’ll do it later.”

Later, as in never.

Deedee tucks her honey-colored hair behind her ear and sets my ruined toothbrush on the counter. We reconvene in the kitchen, where she picks up her purse, playing nervously with the strap while I pay her through an app. I’m grateful for technology like this, because it allows me to pretend like money isn’t real. If money isn’t real, my money problems aren’t real. Everyone wins!

“I hope it’s okay I straightened up,” Deedee says. With someone else, I’d think they were fishing for a compliment. But I can tell Deedee wonders if she overstepped a boundary.

“It looks great in here. I wish I could pay you double since you did the work of a babysitter and a housekeeper.”

She waves me off. “That’s okay, Ms. Darcy.” I wince at the name. “Sorry. I mean, Miss Lindy.”

I understand that parents want to teach their kids to be respectful. Deedee and her two younger sisters are the picture of manners. However, when you’re in your twenties, being called Ms. is like hearing a trombone playing at your funeral.

“How were things with Jo?”

Deedee smiles big, and it’s like someone tossed a match on to instant light charcoal in my heart. “We had a great time. She’s so amazing.”

Her compliment makes my heart swell with pride. Jo is amazing. Anyone who can see that is automatically on my good list for life.

I raise my eyebrows. “She didn’t give you any trouble about going to bed?”

Deedee bites her lip and smiles. “Just a little. I had to read her a few chapters of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone, and then she was fine.”

That’s Jo. Colorer of Jaws pictures and reader of all things wizarding world. I love that girl. And Rachel would never understand or appreciate her uniqueness.

“And how are things with you?” I ask carefully.

Deedee is not just a crier, she’s a hysterical crier once she gets going. Val and Winnie will be here any minute, and I need to be able to get Deedee out of the house. If Val sees Deedee crying, Val will start crying, and then it’s all over.

The easy smile slides right off Deedee’s face like ice cream from the top of a cone in summer. “Okay, I guess.”

I’d like to set the dogs after Mark. Actually, the dogs would probably just lick him. I’d like to set feral hogs after him. That might be too violent. What comes between dogs and hogs? I have no idea.

Maybe the kid isn’t so bad, though he is a Waters. It’s hard to fight against bad genetics. They’re misogynistic pigs, Wolf aside, and he has his own oddities. I’m sure there’s a reason Deedee keeps falling for Mark (and I hope that reason isn’t codependency). But they’ve broken up more times than I can count, and he’s usually the one doing the breaking. He doesn’t deserve someone as sweet as Deedee. At all.

She looks like she’s about to say more, but then we both see the headlights coming down the driveway. The dogs start barking, running to the back door. Deedee scrambles to gather her things, which include a giant purse with knitting needles poking out of the top. She truly is an old soul, and I wish she could find someone much better than Mark if he’s not going to appreciate her.

“Let me know if you need me this weekend,” Deedee says, fighting her way past the dogs to the door. “I should be free.”

Her smile wavers and her eyes shine with unshed tears. If it weren’t for the slamming of car doors outside, I’d make her sit down at the kitchen table and let her tell me all about the breakup. Then I’d warn her away from all men with the Waters last name—or any name with the letters A-Z.

Deedee slips out the side door just as Val and Winnie come in. Elvis almost makes it inside, but Winnie manages to shoo him out with her peep-toe pumps. Val comes straight to me, giving me a massive hug I feel down to my bones.

“Thanks, Valley Girl.”

“Love ya, Linds.” She pats me twice on the shoulder and then grabs a few bottles of water.

I eye the ingredients Winnie is pulling out of a paper bag: vodka, limes, and what looks like a big pile of herbs. “Wow. This looks serious,” I say.

Winnie only snorts.

Val gives me an are you for real? face. “You got proposed to, chica. I’d say that’s serious.”

I stamp my foot. “How did y’all know?”

“Neighborly,” they say at the same time.

“Winnie, your app is genius but also evil.”

“Thank you,” she says.

I wouldn’t be shocked if people know what color underwear I’m wearing on any given day. Not that Winnie would let that kind of post stay up. She’s told me and Val many times that we don’t even want to know how many gross posts and photos she deletes on a weekly basis.

We move from the cramped kitchen to the cramped living room with waters and whatever drinks Winnie made. Val and I take the couch while Winnie perches on Jo’s reading chair, the worn denim glider Mama and I purchased when Jo was an infant.