Page 29 of Phishing for Love
“I’m still waiting for a straight answer,” my mom says.
“I assume he’ll go to the grocery store, like everyone else.”
“And then what?”
“Is that a serious question?”
Mom levels a look at me.
I sigh. “Then I assume he’ll cook whatever he’s bought.”
Grandma shakes her head. “Frank, as much as I loved him, was allergic to the kitchen. Couldn’t even boil an egg.”
“Hey,” I interject, “Dad’s not too bad in the kitchen.”
Lisset wrinkles her nose. “But Grandpa always burns the meat.”
We all turn to stare at her, pinning her with our gazes.
“Do we ever tell Grandpa that?” Kate asks sternly.
“Never,” Lisset replies in a whisper.
“Never, ever,” my mom emphasizes.
I hold up my little finger. “Pinky promise?” Lisset nods and wraps her pinky around mine. “Good girl.”
Potential crisis averted, we all slump in relief in our seats and grab a gulp of wine. At the rate we’re going, we’ll have killed the first bottle and be well into the second before the steaks are ready.
Mom, however, is still fretting over Aaron, who is now cast as a starving Oliver Twist in her mind.
I sigh. “Nathan is perfectly competent in the kitchen. If he can feed himself, so can Aaron.”
Throughout this exchange, Kate is silent. We all know why and leave her be.
“Be that as it may,” Mom says firmly, “Aaron is new in town, and I doubt he’s had a chance to make many friends yet. In the spirit of neighborliness, you should have invited him over today.”
The horror of her statement causes me to choke on my wine. “Absolutely not.”
“Your mom’s right.” Grandma points her glass at me. “You’ll give Brown Oaks a bad name. Next time, make sure you extend an invite.”
“What? No! Never,” I add for good measure because they don’t seem to be getting it.
Kate raises a curious eyebrow. I mentally curse myself for my mistake. I was too adamant.
“This mysterious Aaron guy,” Kate says, a new alertness to her voice, “is he good looking?”
“According to Tess, yes,” Grandma volunteers. I narrow my eyes at my sweet old grandmother, who just ratted me out. She smiles guilelessly at me and gets to her feet. “I better put the garlic bread in the oven.” She opens the oven door and places the garlic bread inside. “Hey, Google, set a timer for fifteen minutes.”
“It looks like you don’t have a timer set at the moment,” Google informs Grandma.
“I know, you moronic machine, that’s why I’m asking you to set one.” She raises her voice. “Hey, Google, set a timer for fifteen minutes.”
“Setting a timer for fifty minutes,” Google intones.
Grandma glares at the machine. “I saidfifteen, notfifty.”
“Fifty,” my mom yells in a bid to avert disaster.
