“Hey, Mom, Merry Christ—” “Bexy. I knew you’d pick up.” Darryl’s voice stops me cold. I get up, murmuring an apology to James, his family, the room at large—I don’t know. I can barely swallow. My heart is in my throat. “Yeah, their house is beautiful,” I say loudly, so James won’t follow. “James got me the prettiest pair of earrings; I’ll text you a picture.” Somehow, I make it to the bathroom. I lock the door and slump against it. “Darryl. What the fuck are you doing?”
