The Unhoneymooners

“I wish I’d been born a lesbian,” Mom says.

“Then you wouldn’t have me,” I counter.

She pats my cheek. “That’s okay.”

My mom picks up a glass of wine and takes a large gulp. “It seems smart to be a lesbian right now. Men are awful.”

She is not wrong.

But I think that’s my problem with Dane, in a nutshell: he’s gross. And unfortunately, my sister loves him, I’ve been hooking up with his brother,

“I think I’m apologizing because my emotions tell me I need to?”

“You have emotions besides irritation?”

There’s no revenge like being with someone new who has a great rack.”

His lip curls. “What an empowering, feminist statement.”

“I can appreciate my body in a bikini and still want to set fire to the patriarchy.”

“I’m not going to kiss you again, just in case that’s what you were thinking this would lead to.”

Whowhatnow? The jackass. Gaping at him, I whisper-hiss, “I would honestly rather lick the bottom of my shoe than have your mouth on mine again.”

“Maybe we can go to dinner or something,” she says, and it’s so half-hearted that I actually bark out a laugh before Ethan reaches for my hand and squeezes it.

“Yes,” I say, trying to cover. “Dinner. We have it every day.”

Ethan looks down at me, and I realize he’s not glaring; he’s fighting a laugh.

I clear my throat. “In a 1990 study, researchers showed that it’s easier to catch someone in a lie the first time they tell it. We should figure out what we’re going to say.”

“You needed Google to tell you that?

“Ethan, I’m a terrible liar.”

“Really? You hid it so well.”

“It’s never been my strength, okay? Those of us who aren’t summoned by the Dark Mark consider honesty to be a virtue.”

“This is really for your safety. Ami will murder you with her bare hands if you say something dickish. You know this.”

Ethan tilts his head, sizing me up. He’s six foot four, and Ami and I are . . . not. His point is made, very clearly, with no words: I’d like to see her try.