Page 72 of Dial F for Finance

Jenna shoves the bottle of beer at me to take. “I don’t know anything about pork.”

“You know Nicky,” my mother says. “Same principle. Too much attention makes it difficult.”

Jenna looks back at me, eyes wide enough to count as distress.

I grin.

She mouths, I hate you.

I lift the beer in salute. “I know.”

And that’s it. The house takes her, absorbs her into its energy.

Tía Marisol asking where Jenna buys her coats. Luz explaining the bridesmaid situation in a level of detail usually reserved for federal indictments. Abuela Carmen lifting one hand from the dominoes table, assessing Jenna over her glasses, then nodding once like she has decided not to sell.

Mateo’s toddler attaches himself to Jenna’s leg for reasons known only to toddlers and the deeply doomed. Jenna looks down, startled, then pats his head with a stiff, flat hand.

The toddler accepts this as a binding contract.

Within ten minutes, she’s been given a plate of food, a napkin, a replacement drink, and more names than one person can possibly remember. Jenna glances at me with such cold murder I cough into my fist to hide the laugh.

She’s terrified.

She’s doing great.

I love her so much it’s starting to interfere with basic organ function.

Dustin comes downstairs right as Jenna is mid-sip of what looks like a lethal dose of sangria. He’s got on his blue Napoleon Dynamite “Vote for Pedro” tee with pressed chinos and, for some reason, a mint-green bowtie. Dustin has never cared about dress codes except to violate them with intent.

He pivots at the bottom of the stairs and stops, scanning the room. The second he sees me, the smile goes wide and he lifts both arms. “Nicky!”

I’m suddenly six years old and running after the ice cream truck again. It only ever happens with him.

“Dusty!” I fire back, navigating a maze of occupied chairs and stray shoes to get to him. He gets me in a one-armed bear hug and crushes me. “Looking sharp, bud.”

He points at the bowtie. “For your lady friend,” he says, not denying it a bit. “Wanted to make a good impression.”

“She’s important to me, Dustin. Don’t play your usual games and embarrass her. Please.”

His grin goes sly. “Everyone gets the Dusty treatment, Dominic. No exceptions.”

God help me.

“She’s way out of your league, by the way,” he continues, leaning in. “Maybe I should show her who the best Cruz brother is.” He waggles his brows and straightens his bowtie.

“Speaking of reasons you shouldn’t do that—where’s your girlfriend today?”

He sighs dramatically. “Hannah couldn’t make it. She’s got a headache and said she has to concentrate too hard reading everyone’s lips. I’m gonna make everyone learn sign language to help her out.”

“Good call. I’ll start learning right away.” I point a finger at his chest. “But only if you turn your hazing dial down to low.”

He folds his arms across his chest, flattening his mouth into a thin line. “I require payment.”

“I see.” I mirror his stance. “What do you have in mind?”

Dustin’s expression flickers through five distinct flavors of opportunism before settling on the one I fear most. “Cupcakes,” he declares. “The fancy bakery kind. Chocolate.”

I reach for my wallet, forgetting it’s still in my suit jacket in the hall. “Fine. But you’re not going to eat six again and then throw up in the backyard like last Easter.”