He gritted his teeth and tossed the bag onto a barstool by the counter in disgust, causing it to slide off said chair and onto the floor.
“That’s the only food we have, you know!” I glared.
“That’s not food!” He pointed at the bag in horror. “That’s processed soy and God knows what else that takes over sixty days to digest fully in your stomach slammed together into the shape of a hamburger!”
Ben, being wicked quick, already had a fry in his mouth, then very quickly dropped it and made a face. “Why would you feed us that?”
“I’m huwngrrryyyyyyy,” Viera wailed again. “But I don’t want dead chickens!”
Ignoring the chaos, Ben swiped the bag from the floor and peered in. “What other food did you get?”
Nothing. Because he hadn’t been here when I ordered.
Which meant I hadn’t done a head count.
Which also meant Viera had dinner, but nobody else did.
According to Rip’s annoying chore chart taped to the fridge, dinner was promptly at six thirty.
All eyes fell to me.
I grabbed my phone. “I didn’t have time to get groceries, but, um, how do tacos sound?”
Rip rubbed his gorgeous eyes and leaned against the counter like he was seconds away from another lecture while Ben started stealing fries and nuggets with a shrug. “I like tacos.” He added more fries to a mouth already full of food and munched.
“Aunt Colby!” Viera sniffled, her lower lip quivering again. “He’s eating my french fries!”
“Am not!” Ben said defensively as a fry fell from his open trap and onto the floor.
“You’re a liar!” She pointed. “Right, Uncle Rip? He gets in trouble for lying! That’s two time-outs in the blue chair!”
“Suddenly glad we kept the chair and didn’t move any furniture out of the house,” I said under my breath, earning an exasperated look from Rip, who took Ben by the hand and led him into the living room, calling over his shoulder, “Order whatever, just make sure it isn’t fast food.”
He paused and then called back at me, “And remember…” His eyes softened in that moment and I almost imagined we were in this together. Instead he lifted his right eyebrow and continued, “I’m gluten-free.”
He turned away then, so he didn’t see my eye roll or the exasperation pulsing off me.
I always fell short.
And he always ended up on top.
And not in the good on-top way where toes are curling and your world is changing.
The kind where he was always looking down.
And I was never enough.
I was feeling sorry for myself and I knew it, but damn, after today’s texting I’d expected at least a little bit more grace instead of judgment.
I swiped at the gathering moisture beneath my eyes, ready to defend myself or at least say something adultlike, when the doorbell rang again.
“It’s the chickens!” Viera gasped.
“No, it’s not, sweetie.” I gave her a small smile and pulled her into my arms, carrying her to the door. Maybe I’d look as in over my head as I felt and the person on the other side would offer to babysit while I cried in the shower.
One could only hope!
After taking a deep breath, I opened the door and slammed it back again before the she-devil standing outside could utter a word.