“He’s certainly a very handsome young man,” Mrs. Plum comments with an ingratiating smile. Aiden thanks her smoothly. Ben, who has always been unsatisfied with his meager height, puffs out his chest in the hopes of getting some recognition for his good-looks. I say “good looks” in the loosest possible way. His posturing goes ignored and Mrs. Plum continues, “I’ll bet he gets all the girls.” She finishes with a wink.

“No kidding,” Kyla mutters. Christine shoots her a warning glance.

“I hope you’re a good guy, Aiden. If you turn out to be one of two-timing bastards, I’ll have to come after you.” I’m wondering if I’m the only person who thought that was a really weird thing to say. Too much wine, Talise mouths at me across the room.

“Too, bad,” Kyla says loudly. “He’s definitely a two-timing bastard.” This time Talise shrugs.

“Kyla,” Christine reprimands urgently.

“He’s a two-timing bastard who can’t keep it in his pants! He has no respect for me or any of the girls he dates. When has he ever dated one for more than a month?”

“We have guests, Kyla!” Christine is indignant.

“Don’t you dare defend him. Not after what he did!” Kyla shouts, red in the face.

“You can’t help who you love, Kyla,” Aiden appeals.

“Don’t give me that bullshit,” she snarls.

“Yeah, what did you have to butt in for?” Ben adds, forgetting his own interference.

“Look, I wasn’t trying—“

“Then, you shouldn’t have—“

I wonder where this is going.

In spite of all the ruckus his news created, Aiden goes on with his date as planned, cheerfully ignoring the glares of utter detestation that follow him out the door.

Kyla was grounded after last night. “How dare you make a scene while we have guests?” and whatnot.

I slump in the kitchen with my arms crossed on the counter in front of me and my head perched on top of them. Staring at the wall, I imagine all the possible impossibly convenient accidents that Aiden could meet with on his way to Spencer’s house, not the least realistic of which involves a hairdresser, a monkey, and several pounds of shredded parmesan cheese.

"Um, Ashley," a voice calls out hesitantly. When I glance up, I’m startled to see Kyla sliding into the seat next to me. I don’t think I’ve ever had a real conversation with Kyla.

It’s not that we hate each other or something, but when I first met Kyla she was seven and really into her Barbies. I was nine and wanted to hate everything about this new family I was being stuffed into. Then, well, the seizure that took me years to recover from happened. After that I sort of became the crazy relative that everyone takes care of but don’t pay much attention too. You know that relative who your friends notice shuffling around in the background with a string of cans, and you say something like: "Oh, that’s just Uncle Bobby. He was always a little off, poor bugger, but don’t worry. He’s perfectly nice. Now what were you saying about those window drapes?"

So, I’m surprised that Kyla is sitting here now about to have what looks like is going to be a deep and heartfelt conversation with me. I maintain my usual silence but turn to make eye contact. Pausing to make sure that I’m listening, she haltingly gets out her next words.

"I— I wanted you to— just—," she takes a deep breath. "Thanks." My face crinkles in confusion. "When Spencer’s mother was here, you stood up for me," she clarifies. "I wanted to tell you that it meant a lot to me. It was brave." At some point, I realize, I’m going to have to say something back.

"It wasn’t a huge deal." My voice sounds dry and papery, even to me.

"It was to me," insists Kyla. Chances are I’m blushing by now. Hoping that I’ll magically come up with something smart, interesting or, at the very least, appropriate to say, I shift awkwardly. Luckily, Kyla opens her mouth to continue. "It’s good to know that there’s someone in this house who isn’t crushing on Spencer."

"Yeah," I croak.