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"Dad told you all of this, huh?"
"Yepperoni," Amber says bitterly.
You fiddle with your basketball shorts. "He didn't tell me any of it."
"Maybe it's because your giving him the Absolute Zero shoulder. He might've clued you in you if you'd talk to the guy. But--" her voice raises half an octave. "This is what's got your nopan all in a bunch? That Daddy isn't inducting you into his shcismatic offshoot of a death cult?"
"What should we do?"
"There's nothing <span class="mu-i">to</span> do."
You goggle at her. She sips.
"What have you done to my sister?" You demand.
"There's nothing to do, Wes. Everything we've tried up to now has only gotten us deeper in the shit, so..." She motions at the air with both hands, unable to finish the thought. "Ophie can handle herself, and Abbie knows that if he touches a single hair on her, Mom and Daddy will slowly dismember him with a paring knife, prison be damned." She pauses with the rim of the bottle to her lips, staring off at the ceiling. "I think Ophie wants to marry his kid."
"What, she takes one penis and now she has to marry the guy? Did she get knocked up?"
Amber gives you a withering glare. "They're in loooove. How does Ophelia Abrams sound, huh? Better get used to it."
"It sounds like shit. And I won't get used to it."
"Glad to see you've still got the fire," Amber says. She sighs. "But the truth is... our families are tied together now. Via business and soon to be via marriage. Why fight it? I'd rather just get out."
