Page 91 of Mr. Red

“Well, doesn’t that bother you?” She puts her hands on her hips.

“It’s still new.” I shrug. “We’re still trying to get to know each other.”

“Ah, is that what he told you?”

I take a sip of my drink, not sure what else to say. After a few moments I want to get out of this conversation. “Speaking of Matt, I’m going to go melt outside and see if he needs tongs or something.”

She smirks at me as I walk away.

What the fuck was that?

Once I make it outside alive, I whisper to Matt, “Your mom is trying to interrogate me.”

He looks over to me with a wily grin. “Oh, don’t worry ’bout her.”

That’s it. That’s his advice for dealing with his mom. Typical.

He turns back to the grill. Meanwhile, I down my drink, though I have no idea what was in it. I should drink water after this. For all I know, she put truth serum in here and I’ll be telling her all my secrets. Secrets I didn’t even know I cared about anymore, like how I cheated on a test in second grade with Lana by writing all the answers on the inside of our jackets. I was like eight, so she probably wouldn’t judge me, but still.

Then a big, burly guy with a gray beard hitting hisshoulders and salt and pepper hair comes walking outside. “Hey, y’all. How ya doing?” he asks, looking like he’s missing his motorcycle.

Matt shakes his hand. I follow Matt’s lead and stand up and put my hand out to shake his.

“Hello, I’m Scarlett. Nice to meet you.”

He shakes my hand back, keeping a neutral expression. His eyes are covered with sunglasses so I don’t know what they’re doing.

“I’m doing just fine. No need to get up for me. Make yourself comfortable.” He turns his attention back to Matt. “That fence is giving me a bit of trouble, but nothing a strong arm can’t fix. Damn near threw my back out. You think you can give some help to your old man there, son?” he asks, slapping Matt’s shoulders with a firm grip.

“Yeah, I’ll help you out after dinner,” Matt responds.

“Okay, do you need any tips on the grill, or you got it handled?”

“I’ve got it.”

“Good. I’ll tell your mother.”

Then he walks back inside. Now I know where Matt gets his stoic, determined temperament from. I realize I didn’t catch his dad’s name; I was distracted by the sheer size of him.

“What should I call your dad? He didn’t say.”

“Well, mom calls him honey muffin. I call him dad. You could try honey muffin, but you’d probably get smacked by my mom.”

I squint my eyes at him.

“Ah, you have jokes, huh? Didn’t know you knew what those were.”

He holds up the spatula towards me. “Don’t make me use this.”

I break into a full smile now. “Oh please.” I roll my eyes. “Try it and see what happens to you.”

There’s a look of desire plastered on his face. It seems inappropriate since his parents are inside. They’re probably spying on us.

“I guess Mr. Reding will do,” I say to myself.

Once Matt is done cooking, we eat inside and then play some fun games on the back patio overlooking the ocean. The temperature has dropped a little and the breeze from the ocean helps cool us off.

Now I see why people live here. The sea, the family, the barbeques—it does seem nice.

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