Page 11 of One Little Favor
I pick up the paintbrush that’s waiting for me, dip it in the smaller container that I’m using to cut in the edges, and turn to start working on the seam where the two walls meet. “What do you know about the Shepherd-McDonough family?”
“You mean the publishing tycoons that own all those newspapers in the Midwest and are always in the news about all the family drama around their company?”
“The very one. Obviously I’m from the Shepherd half of the family.”
I don’t hear her paint roller moving anymore, so I turn my head and sure enough, she’s staring at me—like most people do when they find that I descend from America’s most publicly dysfunctional family.
She draws her head back like she’s seeing me for the first time, looks me up and down, then dips her eyebrows as she does it again. “No way,” she finally says.
“No way what?” I turn back to painting, knowing this isn’t a conversation I want to have, but feeling like I’ve kind of been hiding it from her.
“No way you are one ofthoseShepherds. You are way too normal.”
“I appreciate the vote of confidence, but unfortunately it’s true.”
“So, your father is Andrew Shepherd?”
“Unfortunately.” My dad has been in the news a lot lately because he’s being accused by two of his former executive assistants of inappropriate sexual advances. I can’tlet anything inappropriate happen between me and Avery because I can’t risk being anything like him.
It occurs to me only now that the reason I’ve very intentionally kept this from her is that I don’t want my family’s reputation to taint her impression of me. Normally, I don’t give a shit what people think of me—you grow a thick skin when you’re raised as a Shepherd.
“What was it like? Growing up in that family, I mean.”
I can tell by the soft caress of her words, and by the way she goes on painting, acting like this conversation isn’t a big deal, that she understands the significance of what she’s asking—of what I’m sharing.
“I’m not going to lie, it had its perks. But mostly it was pretty terrible.” I keep cutting the paint in along the seam of the wall and feathering it out on both sides, hoping that if I just focus on the work I won’t think too hard about how much I’m divulging.
But surprisingly, it feels so good to admit this out loud that I wonder why I haven’t opened up about it before.
But I know exactly why: because I don’t want to subject myself to the media circus that would ensue if that ever got out.And yet you’re telling Avery,I think to myself.What makes you think you can trust her?I don’t know the answer to that question. I only know that she’s never given me any indication that I couldn’t, or shouldn’t, trust her.
“Is that why you were so determined to redo your office before your brother and sister-in-law come on Monday?”
“Yeah.” The word is clipped because now I’m thinking about Jeremy’s text telling me my girlfriend better be coming to dinner. Vague fucking threats. That’s how my family operates. “They’re actually coming in tomorrow night. I’m supposed to have dinner with them.”
“Supposed to?”
“It’s complicated.”
“Families usually are.” She sighs. “If you don’t want to talk about it, it’s fine, just say so. But do me a favor and don’t give me these vague half answers, okay.”
Our eyes meet the minute I turn my head, like she’s been watching me the whole time. I set the paintbrush against the magnet on the side of the container and set it on the ground so I can give this conversation the attention it deserves.
“I’ve already told you,” I say, stepping toward her, “more than I’ve ever told anyone else about my family.” Another step and I’m right in front of her. “So don’t act like it’s not a big deal that I’m sharing this, or like it’s not hard for me. You have no idea what my family is really like—what they’ve put me through.”
Even with our eyes locked on each other, I notice the column of her throat move as she swallows. Her breath is ragged, and I think mine might be too. “You’re right,” she says finally, “and I’m sorry. I thought you were just being flippant. I didn’t realize how hard it is for you to talk about your family.”
Her big brown eyes are practically doe-like as she blinks back at me. I want to lean forward, watch them flutter closed as I press my lips to hers. But I fucking can’t—I can’t start something with someone who works for me, I can’t be like my dad. But this need is slowly killing me.
“Why are yousupposed tohave dinner with your brother tomorrow night?”
“I may have lied to my mom.” I shrug. “And now that lie is coming back to haunt me.”
She blinks and raises her eyebrows slightly, silently asking me if I’m going to go on. And I’m not sure what compels me to tell her, except that maybe I think she’ll be able to offer some sort of advice.
“I was trying to get out of a social engagement my mom was forcing on me, so I lied and said I had a girlfriend. Now my older brother Jeremy is being sent to make sure she’s acceptable, and I obviously don’t have a girlfriend to bring to dinner ...”
She blurts the words out so fast it feels like an attack: “I’ll go with you.”
