Dinner was at the long table, and I sat between them with nothing on under the dress.
Mom had booked the terrace and then canceled it, something about wanting the first night in the house. Candles. The good plates. She put me on Graham’s right and Caleb on my other side like a woman arranging a family, and she did not know my cunt was bare, still slick from the bed, thighs sticky where I had not wiped. Every time I reached for water, the dress rode. Caleb’s knee pressed mine. I left it there.
“To us,” Mom said, and lifted her glass.
I drank. Wine on a mouth that had swallowed her stepson three hours ago. Graham’s hand found my knee under the cloth and stayed, heavy, thumb moving once. I didn’t move it. Mom smiled at him like the gesture was for her.
“You look better,” she said to me. “
