“I was wondering if the word jerk derives from the Latin word jealousy. Thought you could shed some light regarding that.” I smiled sweetly, cocking my head to look at him.
Jane sprayed her red wine across the table, making a choking sound that prompted Gerald to pat her back. Dad, Sam, and Hunter exchanged amused looks, chuckling under their breaths. Mom’s eyes glittered with pride. Sticking it to the big man ran in our family.
Cillian tucked his chin down, regarding me for the first time with faint interest, like my existence was a brand new thing he needed to consider.
“Do you think you’re clever, Miss Brennan?”
“Not a genius by any means, but I get by with my perfectly adequate, average IQ.” Another mocking smile touched my lips. “I’d ask you the same question, but I already know the answer. You think you’re the smartest person in the room.”
Cillian sat back and watched me, enjoying a private joke at my expense. “Prove me wrong.”
“I thought you’d never ask.” I made a show of taking my phone out of my purse. I knew it was the equivalent of taking a dump on the table as far as etiquette went, but I couldn’t help myself. I browsed through my images until I found the one I was looking for and passed my phone to Cillian across the table.
“Hunter’s IQ test from when he moved to Todos Santos,” I explained. “I found it in one of the packed boxes in our apartment. Actually, I can see all the Fitzpatrick siblings’ scores. Hunter must’ve packed them by accident. Your baby brother sits at 147 points, which marks him as a literal genius. Yours is merely 139. Still above average, but no 147. Now tell me, Cillian, is your math as good as your Latin?” I blinked innocently.
“Mo órga.” Gerald cleared his throat behind his napkin, signaling Cillian to kill this conversation.
But I couldn’t stop myself. I was on a roll.
Cillian sat back, refusing to show signs of discomfort.
“Measuring one’s competence by their IQ level is like measuring a horse by its coat.”
“Or a woman by her bra size, to put it in a form ceann beag could relate to,” Gerald jested, his potbelly wobbling with laughter.
Jane winced at her husband, slapping the tips of his fingers across the table. She muttered an apology to my parents. Dad and Mom exchanged looks, relieved. Compared to the Fitzpatricks, we were actually a normal family.
Sam, however, watched the entire thing, his eyes ping-ponging back and forth, with a smile behind his pint of Guinness. I had no idea where he’d gotten it. No one else was having Guinness. But this was my brother after all, the most resourceful man in Massachusetts.
Hunter sipped his water. I noticed he hadn’t touched his wine. Everybody in the room was probably under the assumption he’d devour his little treat. It was a long middle finger to what was expected of him. A tinge of pride prickled my chest.
“Thank you for explaining it to me in simple English, Athair. For a minute there I was, hysterically at a loss,” Hunter said.
“Do not speak out of turn,” Gerald warned, stabbing into his steak like it was his enemy.
“I wasn’t planning on speaking at all. Mom was hella adamant I be here, though.” Hunter fingered his chin, throwing the ball back to his father’s court.
“She has her vices. You are one of them.” Gerald turned his attention back to his steak.
“And you’re not, which is why I’m here, taunting the hell out of you with my presence alone,” Hunter deadpanned.
Aisling sucked in a breath, and Jane paled and coughed out her drink—her MO, apparently.
Gerald’s chair scraped back with a screeching sound. He rose to his feet, slapping the table with a roar. “Enough! It’s bad enough that you have brought shame on this family—”
“Don’t talk to him like that.” It was Jane’s turn to dart up to her feet. She looked even more frail and bony next to her husband.
I glanced between Hunter and Gerald, knowing I was missing a very big piece of the puzzle.
Jaw clenched, eyes dead, Hunter stood, turned around, and stalked out of the room. I couldn’t blame him. This house—this family—seemed to purge him whenever he made an attempt to fit in. His father despised him, his brother ridiculed him, and his mother was too weak to stop either of them.
I rose, pressing my fingertips to the table. I could feel all eyes but the Fitzpatrick parents’ on me. Dad, Mom, Sam, and Aisling watched my reaction to Hunter’s meltdown. Even Cillian eyed me, probably curious what other ill-mannered tricks I had up my sleeve.
“I just want you to know one thing.” I pointed at Gerald, feeling my eyes narrow into slits. “When I agreed to this arrangement, I thought I was helping a loving dad guide his son back to the right path. But you’re not loving, and honestly? You’re barely even a dad. You’re a patronizing, bigheaded schmuck. You have no right to be mad at Hunter for turning to booze and sex with random people. He never seems to get any love where he needs it the most—his family. Whatever failure you see in him, be sure to know a big slice of it is your own.”