Rose Petal Graves (The Lost Clan #1) by Olivia Wildenstein Page B

Tony in small talk, I spoke to Aylen about her naturopath business.
    “Cat, Mr. Price, what can I get you?” Cass asked, swinging by our table, balancing a round platter on her hip. She deposited melted cheese sandwiches in front of the twins and a salad in front of Aylen.
    “Here, let me help you with that.” Dad grabbed an enormous platter of ribs and grilled corn glistening with butter. “Tony, I suppose this is yours.”
    “Whose else would it be?” Aylen muttered.
    A whole bunch of tension ensued.
    “I’ll take the roast chicken,” I said.
    “Me too.” Dad handed his menu back to Cass. “Thanks, honey.”
    Cass smiled and bustled away.
    “So when are you all heading home?” I asked.
    “I booked us tickets on the six o’clock flight,” she said, spearing a green leaf. “But if you need us, we could stay longer. Or I can stay longer. Tony can take the girls home and I can stay,” she repeated so hopefully that it pained me to tell her that we didn’t need her.
    “We could use an extra hand to pack Nova’s personal items. I know you already went through her closet, but there are a bunch of boxes in the attic. I wouldn’t know the first thing about what to keep and what to throw,” Dad said.
    Aylen perked up. She even sat straighter and looked at Tony again, unknotting the tautness that had settled between them. She even ordered an extra bowl of spinach dip. Tony didn’t touch her peace offering. After polishing off his rack of ribs, he was probably not hungry anymore. But then he ordered an ice cream sundae when Cass came back with our roast chicken.
    We ate in uncomfortable silence. At some point, Aylen lifted her napkin to blot the corners of her eyes, smudging some of her heavy black eyeliner in the process.
    Dad shoveled in his food so he could get away. I sped up too.
    When he was done, he placed his paper napkin on top of his neat, little pile of chicken bones, and rose. “I’m going to say hi to Bee. I’ll be right back.” I could wager a lot of money that he wouldn’t be right back . He was going to work the room until my extended family went to pack.
    Swallowing one last forkful of green beans, I scooted back, my chair legs scraping the floor. “I need to go to the bathroom.” I couldn’t take another minute of the strained atmosphere. Plus, I thought they could use some time alone to talk things out.
    Since I didn’t really need to go, I washed my hands and checked my reflection. The little bit of mascara I’d applied looked clumpy. I tried to scratch some of it off, but instead, I yanked out one of my lashes. “Ouch.”
    When I was seven, Mom had told me that wishes made on eyelashes always came true. She said that it was because you were giving Mother Earth a piece of yourself, which was the sincerest offering. I’d asked her if nail clippings were also considered offerings—because then I would have had a bunch of wishes—but she’d said no. Only what involuntarily falls away from your body. Baby teeth counted. I’d wished on all the ones I hadn’t swallowed.
    The eyelash stuck to my thumb hadn’t fallen out voluntarily, so I flicked it into the sink where it stuck to the white porcelain before slithering down like a minuscule snail leaving an inky trail.
    I’d believed wishes came true as a kid, but not anymore. If wishes came true, then Mom would still be here, because one of my wishes had been that I would be happy forever. How could I be happy without her? Before tears could spring into my eyes, I walked out of the bathroom, bumping into a girl with blonde hair down to her waist. I did a double-take as the door swung shut behind me. There was something familiar about her, but what? I spotted Cass filling a pitcher with water behind the bar and traipsed over to her.
    “Did you see who walked in here?” she asked, voice lilting with excitement.
    “Was she in school with us?” I asked.
    Cass snorted. “I wish.”
    I swung my gaze back toward the bathroom, but