Page 88 of The Interview

“I always wanted what they’ve got. Twice, I thought I’d lost it,” I say as she tops up my wine glass with the full-bodied red we’ve been drinking with our dinner.

“And now look,” she says, and I do, at my husband, sitting between my dad and eldest brother, and my kids situated between their dad, uncles, and cousins. I look at my family, all seated at the large, round table in the far corner of the restaurant, then finally at Jimmie, my oldest friend, sitting next to me.

The ball of emotion lodged in my throat means I daren’t even attempt to speak.

“Remember after we lost Maca and Beau, you’d made that second or third suicide attempt, and I stormed into your mum and dad’s and ripped right into you?”

I nod, and a tear instantly escapes and rolls down my cheek. “I’ll never forget it,” I manage to croak out as the tear reaches the corner of my mouth. The saltiness seeps in, and I take a sip of my wine to wash away the taste.

“I hadn’t planned that. The words just spewed out when I saw you. I was hurt, I was angry, and so fucking scared we would lose you, too. Aren’t you glad now that we didn’t?”

I nod, again unable to speak as my throat literally feels like it’s about to burst.

“Just look at the way that man looks at you.”

I look across at my husband, who has a wineglass held in front of his mouth. He’s nodding at something being said to him, but his eyes are on me. Lowering his glass, he silently asks, “You all right?”

I smile and nod. “You?” I mouth.

He smiles and nods, too.

My chest fills with warmth as he tilts his glass towards me. I return the gesture.

“Wanna fuck?” he again silently asks with a chin lift in the direction of I don’t know where.

I laugh.

“We can all lip-read, you know,” Kiki says, glancing around Harley to look at me.

Why amIthe one getting told off?

I’m about to protest when Cam steps in. “I was just telling your mother that she’s beautiful.”

“That’snotwhat you said,” Kiks protests.

“What did I say, then?” Cam challenges.

Kiki blushes. “Something a daughter should never hear a father say to her mother.”

“Grow up, Kiks. How d’you think we got here?” George asks.

“A test tube, then these two.” Kiks points between Jimmie and Ash.

“Fair.” George admits defeat with a shrug.

“What? What did I do?” Ash, who’s been unusually quiet, asks.

“Gave me life,” Kiki says and holds her glass out to Ashley, who raises hers. “Thank you for that, auntie.”

“You’re welcome, niece, but I was just the incubator. Your mum and dad were the creators.”

“Is it weird?” Lu says. “That we’re cousins but grew in the same womb.” She directs her question at Joe, who, right now, is signing his autograph on a scrap of paper a boy of about fifteen has just presented him with.

We all watch as they pose for a selfie. When the boy leaves, Joe shakes his head.

“Never thought of it as weird. Just always been in awe of my mum and Jimmie for what they did, and probably Dad and Len for being okay with it.”

I look between Jimmie and Ash. Both have eyes shining with tears.