don’t think we need to rehash right this second.” He gives a pointed glance at Ty, who’s still chattering away with Mrs. Paquinn, and his mother’s eyes widen for a moment, and she nods.
“Well, we’ll have plenty of time to catch up,” she tells us. The timer goes off on the oven, and she turns back into the kitchen. “Kid,” she says as she reaches for an oven mitt, “you’re going to just love what I’ve made for you.” Ah, crap. I should have realized before coming here that Alice Thompson is a firm believer that one should have to eat whatever everyone else is eating, and if the Kid’s along, that means it’s going to be something vegetarian. And probably gross. None of us have the heart to tell her that her cooking is not one of her best skills.
“I’ve got pizza on speed dial,” Jerry mumbles to me and Otter. “What is it?” the Kid asks, running over to stand beside her as she pulls something large and brown and evil out of the oven.
“Well, you know how I made tofurky that one year?” Ugh, don’t remind me. I had the shits for a week. And don’t look at me like that. You would have too. “Well,” she says, flourishing her hands over the pan of lumpy weirdness. “I found a recipe for tofu meatloaf. I call it tofeatloaf.”
Shoot me now, please.
The Kid does his best to look suitably impressed, but I can tell he’s mulling the name of the new confection over in his mind, just like I am. I love Alice Thompson to death, don’t get me wrong. I’ve told you that she was a mother to me when my own didn’t know how to be. But there is no way on God’s green earth that I am going to eat something that has the word “feat” in the middle (work with me here: “feat” turns into “feet,” and now all I can picture is cutting down into the middle of the brown blob and seeing toes sticking out. Don’t tell me you didn’t think the same thing.). The Kid tells Alice that it looks amazing, but he also sounds amazingly facetious (ha!). Alice, of course, notices none of this and smiles down at the Kid like he’d just told her that Martha Stewart committed suicide because there was no way she could compete with toe-loaf.
“You have to take the first bite,” Otter whispers to me, his breath ghosting over my ear. I try not to shiver at it. I almost succeed.
“Not hardly,” I whisper back. “It’s your mom. If you don’t, I’ll tell her that we moved into a house together and that we have sex even though we’re not even married.” Those words come out before I can stop them, and I try to ignore the startled look on Otter’s face that suddenly morphs into the biggest shit-eating grin I’ve ever seen on him. I’ve got to stop speaking before I think.
“Promise?” he growls, dropping his voice an octave or two, knowing exactly what kind of effect it has on me.
I shiver again. He notices, and his hand, hidden behind me, brushes slightly against my ass. I don’t even jump or scowl at him. Odd.
“The tofeatloaf will need a moment to settle,” Alice announces with a frown, poking it with a finger. I almost expect it to reach out and poke her back. Or bite her arm off. “Dear, will you help me set the table?”
Jerry moves away from me and Otter and obliges his wife without another word. Before I can turn and say anything to Otter ( Mexico! ) , Anna and Creed stand before us, looking terrifyingly united in their matching expressions of resolve. I stare back at them, waiting for one of them to make the first move. There seems to be such a rift between the four of us, and I don’t know what to do to fix it. I think about opening my mouth just for shits and giggles to see what comes out, but Creed beats me to it. Damn him.
“We’ll be right back, Mom,” he calls out over his shoulder. “We’ve got to talk to Bear and Otter for a moment.” She waves her hand in an easy dismissal.
Neat.
Creed grabs me by the arm and pulls me none too gently out of the kitchen, leaving Anna
“Well, we’ll have plenty of time to catch up,” she tells us. The timer goes off on the oven, and she turns back into the kitchen. “Kid,” she says as she reaches for an oven mitt, “you’re going to just love what I’ve made for you.” Ah, crap. I should have realized before coming here that Alice Thompson is a firm believer that one should have to eat whatever everyone else is eating, and if the Kid’s along, that means it’s going to be something vegetarian. And probably gross. None of us have the heart to tell her that her cooking is not one of her best skills.
“I’ve got pizza on speed dial,” Jerry mumbles to me and Otter. “What is it?” the Kid asks, running over to stand beside her as she pulls something large and brown and evil out of the oven.
“Well, you know how I made tofurky that one year?” Ugh, don’t remind me. I had the shits for a week. And don’t look at me like that. You would have too. “Well,” she says, flourishing her hands over the pan of lumpy weirdness. “I found a recipe for tofu meatloaf. I call it tofeatloaf.”
Shoot me now, please.
The Kid does his best to look suitably impressed, but I can tell he’s mulling the name of the new confection over in his mind, just like I am. I love Alice Thompson to death, don’t get me wrong. I’ve told you that she was a mother to me when my own didn’t know how to be. But there is no way on God’s green earth that I am going to eat something that has the word “feat” in the middle (work with me here: “feat” turns into “feet,” and now all I can picture is cutting down into the middle of the brown blob and seeing toes sticking out. Don’t tell me you didn’t think the same thing.). The Kid tells Alice that it looks amazing, but he also sounds amazingly facetious (ha!). Alice, of course, notices none of this and smiles down at the Kid like he’d just told her that Martha Stewart committed suicide because there was no way she could compete with toe-loaf.
“You have to take the first bite,” Otter whispers to me, his breath ghosting over my ear. I try not to shiver at it. I almost succeed.
“Not hardly,” I whisper back. “It’s your mom. If you don’t, I’ll tell her that we moved into a house together and that we have sex even though we’re not even married.” Those words come out before I can stop them, and I try to ignore the startled look on Otter’s face that suddenly morphs into the biggest shit-eating grin I’ve ever seen on him. I’ve got to stop speaking before I think.
“Promise?” he growls, dropping his voice an octave or two, knowing exactly what kind of effect it has on me.
I shiver again. He notices, and his hand, hidden behind me, brushes slightly against my ass. I don’t even jump or scowl at him. Odd.
“The tofeatloaf will need a moment to settle,” Alice announces with a frown, poking it with a finger. I almost expect it to reach out and poke her back. Or bite her arm off. “Dear, will you help me set the table?”
Jerry moves away from me and Otter and obliges his wife without another word. Before I can turn and say anything to Otter ( Mexico! ) , Anna and Creed stand before us, looking terrifyingly united in their matching expressions of resolve. I stare back at them, waiting for one of them to make the first move. There seems to be such a rift between the four of us, and I don’t know what to do to fix it. I think about opening my mouth just for shits and giggles to see what comes out, but Creed beats me to it. Damn him.
“We’ll be right back, Mom,” he calls out over his shoulder. “We’ve got to talk to Bear and Otter for a moment.” She waves her hand in an easy dismissal.
Neat.
Creed grabs me by the arm and pulls me none too gently out of the kitchen, leaving Anna
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