Lon whipped around and stared daggers at Jupe. “And you told her?”

“He didn’t have to,” Yvonne said sourly. “You all eat at the same place every year.”

“I told her not to come,” Jupe repeated again, and started to offer some other protest, but Lon shot him a warning look that shut Jupe down—they’d definitely be discussing the kid’s secret-keeping later.

Lon swung back to Yvonne. “The court says you get to see him from noon until five, Christmas Day, as long as you notify me first. You’ve known this for years. Nothing’s changed.”

“Well, what if I have?”

“If I had a fucking nickel every time I’ve heard that.”

She sniffled, affronted, then squared her shoulders. “That’s fair, I suppose.” Her eyes roamed over him, curious. Her shoulders dropped. She swallowed. “You look good, Lon.” She reached out to touch his hair, but he jerked his head back. Her arm fell against her hip. She blinked a few times and awkwardly tried to make light of the rebuff. “It’s not fair you aren’t going gray. I have a regular appointment at the stylist to keep mine covered.” She gave him a soft smile. When he didn’t return it, she stepped out of his path and glanced around the table.

“No hello from you?” she said to Adella. “I’ve left messages the last couple weeks.”

Adella stared her sister down for a few minutes, then simply said, “Been busy.”

Yvonne nervously rattled her clutch handbag against her thigh. She nodded at Mr. and Mrs. Holiday. “Good to see you, both.”

They didn’t answer.

Finally, Yvonne’s eyes flicked to mine. Then my halo. She flinched as some sort of recognition sparked. Oh, yes, she knew who I was. At least, she knew what I was: the girlfriend. A thousand expressions passed over her face. At first I thought she might laugh—some vaguely cruel, laughter-like sound got stuck in her throat. Then she looked confused. Or maybe it was disbelief. She slanted a glance at Lon, shook her head, and said, “I see.”

In my head, I’d imagined Yvonne as an evil villain. Someone who abandoned her son for parties and a cocaine addiction that survived five stints in some of the country’s most exclusive rehabilitation centers. Who unashamedly cheated on Lon with countless other men. Who slashed Lon with a knife in front of the county courthouse on the day of their divorce. Who the judge decreed wasn’t fit to see her own child without another adult present.

Someone her own family had given up on years ago.

But now that she was standing in front of me, looking less like a monster and more like someone who’d fucked up their life beyond repair, I didn’t know what to say to her. She didn’t have my sympathy, exactly, but I felt sorry for her, nonetheless.

She cleared her throat and spoke to me. “I’m Jupe’s mother.”

It took me a few moments to recognize the remark as laying claim. Some weird feral part of me bristled. For a brief moment, I had visions of jumping on Yvonne and scratching her eyes out. Maybe calling up the moon power and binding the shit out of her until she begged me to release her.

Then Jupe’s hand slipped into mine under the table. He was shaking. And that melted my heart a little. I folded my fingers around his. This was about him—not about me or my insecurities. He was looking up to me. I had to be the bigger person. So I simply replied, “I’m here now.”

He squeezed my fingers. I squeezed back.

Gold bracelets clinked on her wrist as she lifted her hand to flip her hair away from her shoulder. “I’m sure you’ve heard stories,” she said to me. “Remember, not everything you read in tabloids is true. I’ve had to sue over some of those articles.”

Did she think I really sat around looking up old stories about her online? I hated to break it to her, but beyond a couple of browsing sessions when I first met Lon, her name wasn’t in my search history. I didn’t need to torture myself viewing photos of her perfect body posed in exotic locales, wondering if Lon took those photos, or what they’d done together when the shoot was finished.

“What are you really here for, Yvonne?” Lon asked. “You’re not getting any more money out of me. I don’t care if they’ve foreclosed on your house again.”

“Why do you have to embarrass me in front of our son? My house is fine. And I’ll have you know that I’m working. I have a new modeling contract. I’ve also been sober for six months, going to recovery meetings. You would know these things if you’d answer the phone.” She glanced around the table. “If any of you besides Jupiter would answer the damn phone!”

The table fell into silence, then Adella shot Yvonne a dark, wilting look. “I’ll answer the phone when it’s the coroner’s office calling, asking me to identify your body.”

Dear God.

“Adella!” Rose snapped.

Adella glanced at Jupe and mumbled an apology.

“Addy—” Yvonne pleaded.

“Don’t ‘Addy’ me. Don’t waltz in here like you deserve pity. The things you’ve done to this family are unforgivable.”

“That’s enough,” Rose said in a sharp voice. “Jupe, why don’t you and Cady and your Auntie go outside while your dad and I talk to your mother.”

But Adella was fired up, and didn’t pay any attention to this request. “Mama might forgive you one day. Lon and Jupe might forgive you. But I will never forgive you for what you did to me.”