Page 9 of Grumpy Darling

“I’ve got it.”

I ignored him and made another attempt to help, snatching my school bag off the top of the pile. He gave me a disgruntled look. It was as though I’d somehow undermined his manliness by taking on a little of the load.

“You can let me carry one bag. I have homework to do,” I explained. “Got to honor my mom’s wishes, right?

He simply grunted and heaved my bags the rest of the way to the house.

“Ready to rethink this whole hostage situation?” I called after him.

“Not yet,” he called back. “But ask me again later...”

I was smiling to myself as I followed him inside. Staying here was going to be fun. But it felt a little strange to enter the house, knowing I’d be calling it home for the next couple of weeks. Not in a bad way though. It was strange, because I already felt far more welcome here than I ever did at home.

I loved everything about the Darlings’ house. It was always so warm and cozy, with Grayson’s dad often lighting a fire in the living room during the winter. The scent of Amy’s floral perfume always lingered in the entryway, and countless family photos lined the walls. It was an old house, totally different than my parents’ gaudy new development, and I much preferred it.

The ancient carpets all looked like they had stories to tell, and the lights often flickered thanks to the old wiring Danny kept insisting he’d get around to fixing. The hot water would take ages to come on, the doors had squeaky hinges, and the floor creaked underfoot. You had to thump the TV just right if you wanted to watch ESPN, and I was constantly tripping over discarded crap the boys left lying around. But the place felt full, almost bursting with things and people, and I think it was the chaos of the house that I loved most.

Gray had disappeared upstairs, taking my things to Cammie’s bedroom, but I made my way to the kitchen. I hadn’t been lying about the homework. I had a test in the morning to study for and there were tons of math problems I needed to get started on if I had any hope of finishing before the weekend was over.

As I entered the kitchen, I found Parker raiding the fridge. Stanley, the family’s docile golden retriever, was waiting hopefully at his feet.

“Where’s Amy?” I asked, taking a seat at the kitchen counter and unloading my books. Grayson’s mom was ridiculously good at math, and I was eager to pick her brain.

“Grocery store.” Parker closed the fridge door, his arms laden with junk food. “Given the flap she’s been in about making sure we have enough food for you, you’d think the whole hockey team was coming to stay rather than one tiny human girl.”

“What is it with you Darlings?” I muttered under my breath. “I’m not that small.”

“Well, I can almost guarantee you won’t be once Mom’s done with you.”

“Can’t wait,” I said with a slight grimace. I joined the Darlings for family dinner almost every Sunday night. And almost every Sunday without fail we ended up eating takeout because Amy Darling had a catastrophe in the kitchen. She wasn’t a completely terrible cook, not as bad as me anyway, but she was known for attempting dishes on Sunday nights that were well beyond her capabilities. At least no creature, human or otherwise, had died because of her food.

“So, are you ready for our sleepover?” Parker dumped his snack pile on the counter and started digging through the pantry. Reed and Grayson often got fed up with their younger brother, but I had a soft spot for Parker. Even though he had a habit of getting himself into trouble, and his mouth was always running away from him, he was usually very sweet to me.

“Can we call it a sleepover if it’s for more than one night?” I asked.

“That depends.”

“On?”

“Whether there’s half-naked pillow fights.”

I spluttered out an incredulous laugh. “That’s your definition of a sleepover?”

“I think that’s every guy’s definition of a sleepover.”

“Then we’re definitely not having a sleepover.”

“Shame.” Parker couldn’t have been that disappointed as he shot me a devilish grin. “So, where’s Grumpson?”

“Upstairs. And please don’t call him that. He’s not grumpy.”

“Maybe not around you.”

“He’s no different around me than anyone else.”

“Pfft. Sure.”

“I’m serious. Just because someone doesn’t smile much doesn’t mean they’re unhappy.”

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