And unlike those kids on TV, she can’t take that for granted.
She flops down at the table and starts texting again. This time with a sulky expression.
“You want pancakes instead?” I ask, second-thinking our usual smoothies.
“Yeah, okay,” she mumbles, not looking up from her phone.
“Can you go wake up A?”
“He’s already awake. He’s over asking Dr. Prince for some help with his AP Biology homework.” E lets out a dreamy sigh. “I wish I needed help with my homework. He’s so hot.”
“No, you don’t,” I answer, grabbing eggs and milk for the pancakes out of the fridge. “You’re eighteen and he’s our thirty-six-year-old tenant.”
E looks up from her phone. “How do you know how old he is? I thought you didn’t make him fill out an application because he’s Dr. Haim’s replacement.”
I inwardly cringe as I pull the Bisquick down from a cabinet. I totally forgot that I told E that. “He must have mentioned it to me in passing.”
But E’s not buying it. A knowing smile overtakes her face. “So you don’t want me to flirt with him because he’s our tenant.”
“And too old for you,” I add.
“But it’s okay for you to flirt with him?”
“We were just talking!” I say, defending myself. Though the truth is I haven’t said a word to Rhys since he moved into the back house. And I only know his age because of the relationship we had three years ago—a relationship I haven’t told either of the twins about.
But the point is, “I wasn’t flirting with him.”
“Why not?” E demands. “He’s so hot, and you’re so pretty. I think you two should totally become Quaranboos.”
“I don’t need a Quaranboo,” I answer irritably. I start throwing all the ingredients I need for pancakes into Mama’s old Tupperware mixing bowl. “I’m happy being single. And even if I wasn’t, I’m moving with you and your brother to Pittsburgh. Now wouldn’t be a good time to start up any relationships.”
Then before E can argue any further with me, I tell her, “You know what, I’m going to go get your brother myself. Dr. Prince only has twenty minutes before he has to go on his farm rounds anyway.”
I leave the kitchen still mixing the pancake batter and find A and Rhys sitting at opposite ends of a picnic table. Usually, we don’t bring out the picnic table for outside ending until late May or early June. But A set it up early after finding out Rhys still had enough of a fundamental grasp of AP Biology to help him out with his homework. Which is good…technically…I guess.
Dr. Prince fired me less than a second after seeing me again. But him helping A with his homework meant I wouldn’t have to hire a tutor with money that needs to go toward our Pittsburgh apartment deposit.
Still, I’m out of a job because of that bitter asshat. So in the end, I decide to keep it petty. I pretend I don’t see him as I say to A, “Hey, kid, I’m making Saturday pancakes. Come join us.”
“Can I have thirty more minutes?” A asks. “Rhys and me were just getting started.”
“No you cannot,” I answer. “I need you to flip the flapjacks and Dr. Prince has farm rounds.”
“I have what?” Rhys asks.
For the first time since he moved into the back house, I allow myself to look at him directly. And I frown when I see what he’s wearing. Black joggers and an old gray tee with Raines-Jewish written across it in navy blue block letters.
The same thing he was wearing that morning after our first sex when his fiancée showed up. And even worse than that, he doesn’t look like he’s headed out for farm rounds in ten minutes. Actually, he doesn’t look like he’s planning on going anywhere at all.
“I’m off today,” he says as if to illustrate my realization. “My only plan was to help young Aaron here with his homework.”
“No, you have to go to check on all the farm folks today. Doc Haim should have left a note for you.”
“Oh yes, there was something about that in the suggestion packet he left me. Quite an inefficient way to do business if you ask me.”
“It’s not business, it’s medicine,” I shoot back. “My dad always made sure to go out there on the last Saturday of the month. That’s why he was beloved. And that’s what you signed on for when you took over his practice from Dr. Haim.”
Rhys rises from the table. And A, who’s sitting in the middle of our stand-off, looks back and forth between us like he wishes he had a bowl of popcorn.
“Actually those off-the-book outer farm visits weren’t stipulated in the contract I signed with Dr. Haim,” Rhys answers, his voice tight. “That means they can come into the clinic when they need to see a doctor. Just like everyone else in Guadalajara.”