12. Chapter Twelve

Chapter Twelve

THEY'RE NOT FOOD, THEY'RE FAMILY

The next day, Rivers and I spent the day at his home yet again. When I arrived, Brenda/Carole sat us down and told us there’d been an issue with the audio, and to my horror, she advised us we'd need to reshoot everything. The game of twenty questions. The non-kiss. All of it. For the second time that week, Rivers pretended to kiss me, and I pretended not to be devastated at the lack of physical contact. When it was done, the crew headed out, wanting to film a few scenes with Jordan and my father. I wasn't sure what the hell they wanted to capture, but their absence left me all alone with Rivers, so I didn't object.

We spent the afternoon cuddled up in front of the television. I couldn't explain why I stayed tangled up in his arms. The repetitive non-kiss had been like a sucker-punch to the heart, but try as I might, I couldn't tear myself away from him.

Beau's bus dropped him off later that afternoon, and when he entered the home, he did so with force. The second the front door slammed loudly against the wall, chaos unfolded around me like an unending twister. Beau flung his backpack on the floor before haphazardly kicking off his shoes and socks. Within seconds, every surface area was cluttered with loose leaf paper and plastic toys. I wasn't even sure where the hell they came from; it was almost like they'd appeared out of thin air. Was this what parenthood was like? Unending mess and an overwhelming sense of confusion clouding your judgment? If so, I didn't particularly care for it.

Somehow, I flew under the kid's radar. He stalked past the sofa, grabbing the remote and aiming it at the television, only to come to an abrupt halt when he saw Lisa Rinna's face frozen on the screen. I hadn't even remembered turning on Real Housewives . I'd just been sitting there in silence, scolding myself for wanting things I had no right to want.

Beau's mouth hung open as he turned and glared at his father. "Rinna," he said, like her name was some secret known only to God and himself. "Oh, my gosh. You're watching my girls behind my back? I've been begging you to watch them with me for decades."

"You're nine," Rivers deadpanned.

"That's not the point," he said, his voice shrill. He looked like he was ready to wage war on the Housewives' behalf. "We're gonna talk about this later. Right now, we've got bigger fish to fry." He slung his backpack off his shoulder and onto the floor, toppling down in front of it with all the grace of a flailing walrus. Reaching inside, he pulled out a slip of paper. "Did you know about this? Don't lie to me, Daddy. I'll know."

"What did I do this time?" Rivers asked, taking the slip of paper and giving it a quick scan. He drew in a long breath, mouthing 'shit' before turning his attention back to his son. "Listen, Beau, it's—"

"I knew it," Beau said before finally noticing me. "Hi Phillip." He offered me a genuine grin that stretched ear to ear. Then, like something out of a horror film, he screwed his face up in anger, snapping his head back in his father's direction. "I knew you were behind it. Dang-it, Daddy. I told you I don't like animal cruelty. How could you do this to me? Is it your way of getting back at me for peeing in the sink yesterday? Only, you were in your bathroom and I really had to go. I would have used the one downstairs, but Fudge was drinking out of it. What the heck did you expect me to do, pee in a bottle?"

I gagged.

Rivers winced. "You peed in the sink?"

"Well, I wasn't gonna pee in the yard, was I? I'm not a dog!"

"Okay," Rivers said, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. "We'll be circling back to that later, but first—"

"Answer the question! Did you know?" he shrieked.

I wasn't sure what the hell had the poor boy in such a state. Sure, he was prone to theatrics, but I'd never seen him this upset. As Rivers attempted damage control, I took the paper from him.

Christ. Okay, it was starting to make sense.

"It's how farms work, buddy. You know where meat comes from. We've had this talk."

"You didn't tell me the animals I was helping were going to be bacon! You said they were going to another farm."

"Buddy, they do this every year on closing night. I don't have a say in the matter. I've got fourteen farmers coming in to sell off their livestock."

"No, you don't. Blood on your hands, that's what you've got," Beau said.

"For God's sake—"

"Beau," I said, trying to distract him.

"No," he said, taking a step back. "I've already got Daddy breaking my heart. I don't want to have to be mad at you too. I don't want to lose my job as the fan club president, but I'll quit if you stick up for this. They're gonna kill them. It ain't right, Phillip." He swiveled back in his father's direction. "You gotta buy them all up, Daddy."

"We live in a subdivision. Where the heck do you think we were going to put thirty pigs?"

"We have a big backyard."

"Not big enough for thirty pigs, we don't," he said, panic coating the words.

"That don't matter. We can think of something later. They're Fudge's brothers and sisters. If they kill 'em off, it's gonna be jellyside."

"I think you mean genocide, and I'm not sure that's the proper use of that word," I said, but all it earned me was a death glare. "I'm also not sure how you know what genocide is."

"Daddy watches Fox News sometimes," he said, side-eyeing his father accusingly. "He says it's just to see what the other side has to say, but sometimes I don't know."

I glared at Rivers. "That's borderline child abuse. I won't stand for it." I steadied myself, because the look Rivers shot me was one that could bring a grown man to his knees, and not in a fun, frisky way. Course correcting, I returned my attention to Beau. "Come here, kid." I patted my thigh, motioning him over. He seemed conflicted, like he was weighing his options. Thankfully, he must have realized resistance was futile, because he scurried over and hopped into my lap.

He pressed his face into my chest, tears soaking through my shirt. "They're not food, Phillip. They're his family. My friends."

I hated seeing him like that. He was a perfectly lovely seven-or-thirteen-year-old boy. He didn't have any business being so distraught. I wanted to help, but for the life of me, I just couldn't think of a solution. Despite the royalty checks from Friendzone's albums coming in consistently, I wasn't made of money. On top of that, I wasn't even sure how much pigs sold at auction. Jordan did our grocery shopping; perhaps he might know how much a pack of bacon cost? I was sure if I just multiplied that number by ten or twenty, it would probably give me a rough estimate. Even if I could spring for thirty potbellies, there were still the logistics. Rivers was right. They lived in a gated community. The smell alone would more than likely trigger an endless HOA feud. Then there was the noise. Fudge was a rambunctious little bastard, and judging by his behavior thus far, adding thirty of his brothers and sisters into the mix would probably send Rivers into a mental breakdown. Sure, I could nurse him back to health, but I wasn't a trained trauma specialist. I couldn't be expected to play Florence Nightingale for the rest of my life.

For the rest of my life?

Where the hell had that thought come from?

Eventually, Beau excused himself, wiping his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt before sulking off to the stairway. Behind him, Fudge hobbled along, pausing long enough to peer over his shoulder, flashing a look of pure, untethered rage in Rivers' direction. When I turned back to Riv, his eyes were wide as saucers, and the hairs on his arms were standing on ends. Beau bent over and whispered something into the porker's ear. Once they were upstairs, I inched closer to Rivers and took his hand. There had to be something we could do. Some way I could help.

"Whatever you're thinking, Phillip," Rivers said, staring at our intertwined fingers. "Whatever's going on in that big, beautiful head of yours, don't." His grip tightened. "This isn't up for debate."

I cuddled in closer, leaning my head against his shoulder. The sigh that escaped him cut through any thoughts of pignapping or grand swinery. "I just hate seeing him like that."

"You think I don't? Parenting isn't all fun and games. You can't just give into every little whim. You coddle them as much as you can, but you have to prepare them for the real world. Even if we somehow saved this bunch, what about the next? And the litter after that? Short of banishing Mr. Monte from Tallulah altogether—and before you even suggest it; no, Firecracker, I don't have the legal authority to enact an exile—my hands are tied, baby."

My heart fluttered in my chest every time that word left his lips. There was no call for the endearment, but there it sat, hanging in the air around us like his sandalwood-scented cologne on the breeze. It dazzled me. Dizzied me. Fucking consumed me. For Rivers, however, it hardly even registered. The word fell so easily from his lips that it almost seemed like an afterthought. As much as I wanted to become lost in the moment—to stare into those dreamy eyes of his as I hardened to stone like one of Medusa's victims—I knew this wasn't a memory I could live inside. Plans were already swirling in my mind like the world's most lackluster cyclone. If Rivers was unwilling to find a home for thirty of his son's closest swine buddies, the burden was going to have to fall on me. I just hoped the damage left in the metaphorical twister's wake wasn't deadly.