Page 22 of Out on a Limb
“No.” He shook his head. “For me to laugh you’d have to be funny.”
My scoff was loud. “I’m funny.”
I wasn’t that funny. Definitely not as funny as my friends.
But still. I was at least amusing.
“Fine.” His brows lifted. “You can be funny.”
“Thank you.” I turned to the road before glancing back at him, eyeing him up and down. “I’m funnier than you.”
“Everyone’s funnier than me.” His expression was suddenly very serious.
“Not everyone.” I could think of at least two people who were less funny than Andrew. All of them were old men, but still.
“Yes, everyone.” He shifted around in his seat, twisting his legs from one side to the other. “I don’t make jokes.”
“You make jokes.” He’d made two this morning alone. “You’re the reason we’re getting buckets of chicken for lunch.” I smirked. “That’s a joke.”
“That’s irony.”
“I feel like that’s stretching the definition of irony.” I turned into the drive-through line at the chicken place and pulled up to the speaker. I ordered four bucket meals, complete with biscuits, mashed potatoes and gravy, and coleslaw, before pulling up to the window.
The girl inside stared out at us, her eyes resting on Phillip. “That’s ironic.”
I don’t think anyone really understood the meaning of irony around here.
I took all the food as she passed it through, handing it across the car to where Andrew was still crammed into the seat. The food stacked higher and higher, leaving even less room for his large body. “For the love of God push your seat back.”
An odd splooshing sound followed by a soft thump pulled my attention from the pile of bags balanced on Andrew’s lap, dragging it down to where Phillip stood on the console.
Andrew laughed. “Now that’s ironic.”
“Still not irony.” I grabbed a stack of napkins from the top bag and dropped them on the pile of bird poop Phillip just dropped onto my console. “Just gross.”
Phillip was definitely going to be an outside chicken. No way was I letting him shit all over my house.
“Maybe we should have gotten tacos.” Andrew finally reached down beside his seat and a second later the whirr of a small engine took his chair slowly back. “He might be less offended by those.”
“They make chicken tacos.” I turned onto the main road and headed back toward the garden I’d worked at since my fourteenth birthday.
Over a decade.
All through high school. College.
I tried to leave once I got my degree in business. Thought I might venture out into the same world that brought my grandfather so much success.
But when he heard I was going to leave, my grandfather made me an offer I couldn’t turn down.
A level of income no one else could match.
At the time I felt like I’d be an idiot to leave.
Now I wasn’t so sure.
“They make chicken everything.” Andrew stretched his legs out in the added space he’d created. “If he’s going to crap on your stuff every time you eat chicken then you might want to put him in diapers.”
I looked down at Phillip. “You think he’d leave them on?”
