Catastrophe Queen

“My parents have been happily married for years. It’s totally possible to have a happy ending with your boss.”

“Are you trying to marry me off to Cameron?”

“There’s nobody else knocking at your door.”

I dipped a fry in ketchup and pointed it at her. “You don’t exactly have a long list of gentlemen knocking at yours, do you?”

“No, but this is why I keep Logan around. I’m not ready to commit.” She shrugged a shoulder and picked up her burger. “I don’t need a long list. Plus, I’m not a romantic pansy like you.”

I laughed. “What, because I like romance movies and books, I’m a romantic pansy?”

“No, the endless doodles over your notebooks in school proclaiming you Mrs. Nick Jonas are.”

“Hey.” I pointed another fry her way. “I would husband him so hard if I could. Some things don’t change, and my love for Nick Jonas is one of them.”

“Well, I admit, I didn’t see it then, but I do now.” She shrugged. “Puberty did that man good.”

I slowly nodded after biting into my burger. It most certainly had. Then again, it’d done me more than a few favors, too. Puberty and braces, that was.

We finished our lunch in relative silence after that, only casually throwing out little bits of conversation until we were done, and we’d paid.

I held the door open for her to walk through. “Are you going back to the salon?”

Jade nodded. “Need an appointment?”

“Yeah. Can you text me? I have to get some printer ink so I can print out all the stuff I ruined.”

She smirked. “At least now, he really knows you’re a catastrophe.”

I shot her a dark look as we parted. “Not funny!”

CHAPTER TEN – MALLORY

Cameron: Sorry I missed you this afternoon. Did you get all the stuff printed out?

I stabbed some pasta with my fork and hit ‘reply’ on the screen.

Me: Most of it, but I think a couple of the properties have sold since they were printed.

“Are you texting at the dinner table?” Grandpa peered over the table at me as he picked up his whiskey. “You kids these days. You have no respect.”

Mom side-eyed me, begging me not to say anything.

“It’s my boss. Would you prefer if I left the table to have my conversation?” I asked in the sweetest voice I could muster.

Grandpa frowned at me. “Are you sassin’ me, girl?”

“No, she’s not sassing you, you old coot,” Aunt Grace snapped. “She can’t ignore her boss, and it’s rude to leave the table before you’ve finished eating.”

“It’s rude to text at the table,” Grandpa shot back at her. “Especially with your elders.”

Mom grabbed her glass and downed it.

My phone beeped, and my fingers twitched with the urge to pick it up and read the message. I resisted it, instead turning it down so the screen was flat against the table and I wasn’t being tempted by it.

Instead, I tapped my fingers against the table and turned my attention to eating.

“The phone shouldn’t even be there,” Grandpa continued. “I told you that kids have no respect. In my day we sat and ate and talked about our day.”

Oh, Jesus. This was going south fast.

“Well,” Dad said, politely wiping his mouth, “It’s a little different now, Eddie. Phones at the dinner table are normal.”

“It’s rude.”

“So are you,” Aunt Grace griped. “You’re not letting anyone eat. You’re not talking about your day. You’re just bitchin’.”

“Enough.” Mom held up her hands and stopped the conversation before it got any worse. “Yes, texting at the table is bad manners, and Mallory has now stopped. If anyone would like to begin a civil conversation about their day, do it now.”

Nobody said a word.

“That’s what I thought.” She double-checked her glass to make sure it was definitely empty then sighed. “Everyone just eat.”

We did as we were told. There was silence for the rest of the meal—if you ignored Grandpa’s quiet muttering under his breath to himself, that was.

It was awkward and uncomfortable, but so were all family gatherings. I much preferred the ones where I could simply show up for a couple hours and then disappear.

The ones where the family stayed here? Not my favorite.

Dad finished first and got up, taking his plate with him. It was the cue we all needed to move, and although Mom and I moved to clean up, Grandpa and Aunt Grace didn’t.

Grandpa disappeared into the living room, and Aunt Grace took to the hallway where her purse was.

There was the sound of a door closing and shutting, and Mom looked toward the front door with a glare. She wouldn’t go far—she was too old for that—but there was no doubt she was going for a little walk to cool off.

Dad wrapped his arm around Mom and whispered something in her ear. She deflated but gave him a weak smile and nodded. He squeezed her lightly before letting her go, and Mom crossed the kitchen, pausing to kiss the side of my head.