them, Jack and his friends played lots of pool, and heâs still pretty good, even stoned. By the time Connor was old enough to play, though, the table was a storage area for boxes of unused things. Heâs decent with straight shots, but every time he tries to angle a ball off the rim, Jack is reminded of the C his brother got in high school geometry. For reasons Mona explains with only a smile, sheâs the best of them all, taking trick shots with the cue behind her back. And Frankie is awful, or maybe she pretends to be awful so Connor can guide her hands on the wood pole, position her slim hips against the tableâs varnished curves. They play three games, Jack and Mona winning all of them easily.
âYou hungry, Conn?â Frankie asks, running her pale hands up and down her cue so gratuitously itâs laughable. âJack and Mo can play a winnerâs tournament, and you and I can check out the leftover cookie situation.â
Connor nods, follows Frankie upstairs. Watching them leave, Jack sits on the end of the pool table and realizes he isnât mad at his brother anymoreânot for drinking too much, or getting high, or screwing around with the total sexual predator, not for almost starting a fight or for being disappointed in Jack for becoming their father. But Jack
does
feel as though he might cry, which is strange because he canât remember the last time he criedâwhen his mother died? the end of
Hoosiers
? He tosses his cue from hand to hand, stares at the cheap carpeting.
âJack?â Monaâs voice is like cotton gauze. Sitting next to him, she runs fingertips through his dark hair. âWhatâs wrong?â
Shaking his head, he touches his lips to her cheek, whispers, âI like your family.â
âBut?â
âNo, thereâs no âbut,â I really like them.â Itâs true. Thereâs something charming about her motherâs horrible sweater and the fact that her father is the fun kind of alcoholic. Even the ghosts of Mona Past and Mona Future are amusingâMelanie because she has given up trying and Frankie because she tries so fucking hard.
âDoes my family make you miss your parents?â she asks.
âMaybe.â But he doesnât think thatâs it; there is a âbut,â but heâs not sure what it is.
âIâm sorry,â she says. He turns his face to hers, and she kisses his forehead, both eyebrows. He closes his eyes, and she kisses the lids. âI wish I could have met them.â
When Jack thinks about his parents, he thinks about how he wanted his father there when he got his bar results or how he would have liked his mother to yell at the doctors when he was hospitalized with bronchitis last year. Never once in the thirteen months he has been with Mona has Jack ever lamented her not knowing them. That is as close to the âbutâ as he can get, but he doesnât say anything because a launch sequence has been initiated. Heâs kissing her harder as she fiddles with his belt; then heâs got her on her back on the green felt table. Pulling off her gray pants, he licks her ankle, her calf, her knee, her thigh. He slides down her panties and licks the folds of skinâthe only part of her body thatâs ever warm. She chews her lower lip, and a bead of blood swells at the spot where he bit her in the kitchen. As she comes, her arms fly up, knocking around all the stripes Connor and Frankie couldnât sink.
        Â
When they finish and Jack goes upstairs to Frankieâs room, Connor is already sprawled across the bed, long legs and arms everywhere, Frankie nowhere in sight. In the dark, Jack puts on the cotton pajamas Mona gave him as part of his Christmas gift and moves his brotherâs hot body to one side.
âHey.â Connor smacks Jackâs hands. âGo sleep with your girlfriend. As sort of your Christmas present to
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