Page 168 of Silver Sweet

“Masterful tomfoolery,” I add.

“I only learned from the best.” She curtsies.

Eliot slings an arm over my shoulders. “They grow up so fast.”

“But not too fast,” I say, then glance over at Phoenix.

He’s taking this in like he’s watching a foreign film that’s not French. “You said the Cobalt Empire has a ton of online Wiki pages?”

“I’ve only told you this like a thousand times, yes,” I say.

“Is there a part in there that says you’re all really fucking weird?”

I laugh. “It’s not every day someone gets one over on me and Eliot,Phoenix.”

“Somehow I don’t believe that.” He sweeps me head-to-toe. My face burns, but I’m smiling even more.

Until I hear a perfunctory knock. Then the door opens to reveal my formidable parents. My mom, in her classic black dress and matching heels. My dad, in navy-blue slacks, a leather belt, and a lighter blue button-down that molds his fit build. They carry themselves like they’re about to enter a boardroom. Which they do on the daily.

I wonder if Phoenix shit his pants when he saw them.

I wonder if they grilled the fuck out of him.

I hate that I missed it.

Why can’t I be in five places at once? Life is truly cruel to me.

Mom glares every which way, even at the furniture like she’s scouting for predators in our den. “This looks relatively tame.”

“The whores come out at midnight,” Eliot says, cutting the tip of a cigar. “And by whores, I mean me, myself, and I.”

Audrey laughs, but our parents ignore Eliot’s quip.

Dad says a warm, “Joyeux anniversaire, mon fils,” to me.Happy birthday, my son.WhileMom says an icy, “Happy birthday, gremlin.” In heels, she’s not much shorter than me, and I give her a side-hug and silly air kiss on each cheek.

She clutches my arm to keep me still. Her yellow-green eyes can decay, but all I see is ultimate strength. “I know you have many benchmarks, but you completed an enormous goal. I amveryproud of you.”

My grin reemerges, stretching to extreme heights. It feels good to hear, even though I’ve always felt her pride in me. “Thanks, Mom. We’re still waiting for the embargoes to lift on press likePitchforkandRolling Stone, so we’ll see how it’s being critically received soon.” These major music critics were sent the album weeks ago.

All reviews are supposed to be posted by tonight.

Phoenix is rigid near the dual espresso-coffee machine. “They might not have even listened toSilver Sweet,” he reminds me. “There’s no guarantee, Tom.”

“Yeah, I know, we might not even be notable enough to bereviewed.” It’s not killing my self-esteem. It’s driving me to want to reach a place where we’re worth a review.

Dad echoes this feeling in me. “Then be someone who can’t be ignored,” he says. “The best you can do is try. The worst you can do is give up your passions. Que serait la vie sans elles?”What is life without them?

“Froide,” I say more to Phoenix.Cold.

He stares deeply into me. I barely hear him murmur, “Oui.”Yes.

“May I cut in please?” Audrey asks with prayer hands. “We haven’t received a definitive answer about the Wolfgang St. Pierre theories, and I, for one, find themverycompelling and cute and skewed toward romantic.”

“Wow.” Phoenix’s brows jump, because if she were wrong, she’d be inserting awkward tension within The Carraways. “Bold.”

“Thank you.”

“Wasn’t a compliment—sorry,” he immediately apologizes to my mom who looks like she’s about to rip out his jugular.