Thirteen

Sometimes I think not speaking is a real challenge. The key here was to get Aunt Maureen to ask me what I was doing tonight, so that she didn’t think I had a date or some other such nonsense when I went back to Bane’s. Also, I had to find a way back to Bane’s, period. But I wasn’t going to give up and just ask for it—that was cheating.

I was up to my elbows in ground hamburger, helping Uncle Mack with his special meatball recipe, while Aunt Mo made cupcakes behind us. This is the epitome of healthy behavior, in case you were wondering. Particularly since Uncle Mack kept trying to lick the spoon from the cupcake batter. Well, at least both things were yet to be cooked, right?

Cooking was really the only thing I did with my aunt and uncle. It was their catch-up-with-the-niece-that-we-brought-into-our house time. So, it was actually an excellent time to tell them about my babysitting that night (oh Lord, me, babysitting). The trick was to get them to ask the right questions. It really was lucky that I’d had all that speaking practice with Bane.

We’d already covered school and how the magazine was going (the simplicity of my life was truly remarkable) before getting around to Bane. “I’m so glad you’re spending time with that nice boy,” Aunt Mo commented. For every day that I’d spent at his house, Bane had insisted on walking me up to the door. It was overtly chivalrous, but somehow my guardians had read this as nice, and polite.

Well, he was polite. I would give him polite.

I made a noncommittal sound of agreement. “You two are getting along well, aren’t you?” Uncle Mack asked, when Aunt Mo elbowed him. Honestly, I hoped upon hope that I never married someone like my aunt Maureen. She was almost as bad as Bane, I swear.

“Yes, quite well.” If I was lucky, they would read into the fact that I tacked two words more than my usual on the end.

Aunt Maureen did, if her reaction was any indication; she turned around to glare at me suspiciously. “You two aren’t spending time in a social capacity, are you? I mean, it’s fine—it’s more than fine—if you do; I just want to know, Deirdre, dear.”

I rolled what was roughly my five billionth meatball. “We haven’t done anything that’s not the magazine yet,” I muttered.

Being a master deducer, Aunt Mo caught on to this, again. “Yet? You plan to in the future?”

“Not with Bane.”

Uncle Mack grew tired of the evasiveness. “Deirdre, what are you doing that relates to Bane, when, and with whom?”

Thank you, Uncle Mack. “His mom asked me to babysit tonight.” My voice was barely a whisper—maybe it was a hair louder.

“Babysit?” Uncle Mack echoed, as Aunt Maureen bounced excitedly.

“Oh, Deirdre, I’m so proud of you. Out of everyone in this town, they asked you to be their babysitter. You must have made quite an impression, my dear. Well done, sweetie.” I took this with an uncomfortable twist to my mouth.

“How are you going to get there?” Uncle Mack asked. “Would you like a ride?”

“Yes, please,” I muttered. Well, that was relatively easy. Ha, as if.