The music inside suddenly became louder, and Thomas released me.
“Tommy!”
Another brother—obvious because he looked so much like Taylor—was holding open the door. He was wearing only a yellow nylon Speedo, barely big enough to conceal his man parts, and a matching wig. The hideous bright yellow acrylic on his head was a mess of curls and frizz, and he flirtatiously bounced it with one hand.
“Like it?” the brother said. In small steps, he pirouetted, revealing that bit of fabric he wore wasn’t a Speedo at all but a thong.
After getting an unexpected eyeful of his snow-white hindquarters, I looked away, embarrassed.
Thomas looked him up and down and then breathed out a laugh. “What the hell are you wearing, Trenton?”
A half smile dimpled one of Trenton’s cheeks, and he gripped Thomas’s shoulder. “It’s all part of the plan. Come in!” he said, moving his hand in small circles toward himself. “Come in!”
Trenton held open the door as we walked inside.
Cardboard renditions of breasts hung from the ceiling, and golden confetti in the shape of penises were sprinkled all over the floor and tables. A table sat in the corner, crowded with liquor bottles and buckets of ice filled with various brands of beer. Wine bottles were absent, but there was a cake in the shape of very large pink breasts.
Thomas leaned down to speak into my ear, “I told you it wasn’t a good idea for you to come here.”
“You think I’m offended? I work in a field that is predominantly male. I hear the word titties at least once a day.”
Thomas conceded, but he paused to look at his hand just after patting his little brother’s shoulder. The body glitter covering Trenton’s skin had rubbed off on Thomas’s palm, and it shimmered under the disco ball above. Thomas was immediately horrified.
I grabbed a napkin off a table and handed it to Thomas. “Here.”
“Thanks,” he said, half-amused and half-repulsed.
Thomas took my hand. The glittery-wadded napkin was mashed between our palms as he pulled me through the crowd. Loud music assaulted my ears, the bass humming in my bones. Dozens of men were standing around, and there were just a handful of women. I instantly felt sick, wondering when I would run into Camille.
Thomas’s hand felt warm in mine, even with the buffer of the napkin. If he was nervous though, it didn’t show. He greeted several college-aged men as we crossed the room. When we reached the other side, Thomas held out his arms and hugged a portly man before kissing his cheek.
“Hi, Dad.”
“Well, hello there, son,” Jim Maddox said in a gruff voice. “It’s about damn time you came home.”
“Liis,” Thomas said, “this is my dad, Jim Maddox.”
He was quite a bit shorter than Thomas, but he had the same sweetness in his eyes. Jim looked upon me with kindness and almost thirty years’ worth of practiced patience from raising five Maddox boys. His short and sparse silver hair was now multiple colors from the party lights.
Jim’s hooded eyes brightened with realization. “This is your girl, Thomas?”
Thomas kissed my cheek. “I keep telling her that, but she doesn’t believe me.”
Jim opened his arms wide. “Well, c’mere, cupcake! Nice to meet you!”
Jim didn’t shake my hand. He pulled me into a full-on hug and squeezed me tight. When he released me, Thomas hooked his arm around my shoulders, much more cheerful to be amid his family than I’d expected.
Thomas pulled me into his side. “Liis is a professor at the University of California, Dad. She’s brilliant.”
“Does she put up with your shit?” Jim asked, trying to speak over the music.
Thomas shook his head. “Not at all.”
Jim laughed out loud. “Then, she’s a keeper!”
“That’s what I keep telling him, but he doesn’t believe me,” I said, nudging Thomas with my elbow.
Jim laughed again. “Professor of what, sis?”
“Cultural studies,” I said, feeling a bit guilty for yelling at him.
Jim chuckled. “She must be brilliant. I haven’t a clue what in the Sam Hill that means!” He put his fist to his mouth and coughed.
“You want a water, Dad?”
Jim nodded. “Thank you, son.”
Thomas kissed my cheek and then left us alone to track down the water. I wasn’t sure if I’d ever get used to his lips on my skin. I hoped I never would.
“How long have you worked for the college?” Jim asked.
“This is my first semester,” I said.
He nodded. “Is that a nice campus out there?”
“Yes.” I smiled.
“You like San Diego?” he asked.
“Love it. I lived in Chicago before. San Diego’s weather is preferable.”
“You’re from Illinois originally?” Jim asked, surprised.
“I am,” I said, trying to mouth the words precisely so that I wouldn’t have to yell so loud.
“Huh,” he said with a chuckle. “I sure wish Tommy lived closer. But he never really belonged here. I think he’s happier out there,” he said, nodding as if in agreement with himself. “How did you two meet?”
“I moved into his building,” I said, noticing a woman speaking to Thomas by the beverage table.
His hands were in his pockets, and he was staring at the floor. I could tell that he was being purposefully stoic.