Page 75 of Betting on the Boy Next Door
“Yes, ma’am. I don’t have to work until 10:00.”
“Explain to me what it is you do for work again?”
Madi shrugs. “Look cute and pour people wine.”
“Like a cocktail waitress?” Grandma asks.
“Kind of. We’re sort of the Rolls Royces of cocktail waitressing.” Madi doesn’t look remotely offended by the question, but it’s a sign of how much she likes Grandma that she even explains. Usually, she doesn’t.
“I’m a Chevy girl myself,” Grandma says. “We’re doing redneck margaritas with a seventies movie tonight.”
“Can’t wait,” Madi says.
Grandma and I spend the rest of the day poking around thrift stores where I score another prom dress that will make a perfect stage outfit. She finds three T-shirts that would make every one of the Browers blanch with the possible exception of Josh’s grandfather.
The least offensive one says “Kiss My Grits,” with two sunny side eggs that invite a lot of questions. Mainly, based on the placement of the eggs, I think I may have been wrong my entire life about what kissing someone’s grits actually means.
We stop at the HEB for some Redneck Movie Night snacks. Grandma says she’s allowed to use the term “redneck” because she is one—a proud one—and I get immunity for using it as long as it’s with her. Her basic rule is that you’re only allowed to use “redneck” if you know it’s not an insult.
We leave the store with Funyuns, Mountain Dew and tequila for redneck margaritas, baloney and Kraft singles for Wonderbread fried sandwiches, premade potato salad, a fistful of Slim Jims, and some Skittles for the sweet.
Everyone is settled in on the sofa or floor with pillows at seven o’clock, a plate with Grandma’s fried baloney sandwich in front of them (except Ava’s is regular grilled cheese), a side of potato salad, and the other snacks of their choice.
“We’re watchingThe Sting,” Grandma announces. The pre-movie lecture might be the best part of Redneck Movie Night. She’s about to go into it when Ruby holds up a hand.
“Wait, sorry, my friend Charlie just texted. Can he come over?”
“Charlie!” Ava cheers. I give an approving whoop and Madi flashes a thumbs-up.
“He can be here in ten minutes,” Ruby says.
“I don’t mind if y’all don’t,” Grandma says. “But does he have redneck credentials?”
“He loves baloney sandwiches,” Ruby promises.
“Tell him to come on, then,” Grandma says. “Now y’all explain to me who this boy is.”
“I work with him,” Ruby says. “He’s a librarian too.”
“We want her to marry him,” Ava says.
Ruby scoffs. “That’s just you, Ava. Let it go.”
“I want you to marry him,” Madi says.
I raise my hand. “Me three.”
“Nobody needs to do any kind of marrying,” Grandma says. “But if you do—”
“Get a prenup,” Ava says.
“Keep your own checking account,” Ruby adds.
“Keep the utilities in your name,” Madi says.
“And don’t spend a lot on your wedding,” I conclude. She’s got us well-trained.
“College girls.” Grandma shakes her head, looking like she wants to either laugh or spank us. “Y’all listen, at least. But we’ll see how well it sticks when you find a man who sweet talks you.”
