Page 18 of Turnabout Is Fair Cosplay
He’s smiling at me expectantly.
“I’ll just go check.”
“Oh, you don’t have to right now.”
“No, it’s no trouble.” And it’s then that I realize again that Mike, however insufferable and annoying and smug he may be, is right. I may not be a cactus, but I am definitely stuck. And lucky me, he’s been here to witness all of it.
“Bea, if you’re headed inside, can you find Eaton’s Moosey and blankie?” Julie asks.
“They’re in the nursery. You can get them when you put him down for a nap.”
“And miss his party?” Portia takes another sip of her drink.
“He can nap out here.”
“Yeah, Bea.” Portia makes shooing motions with her fingers. “Go.”
They expect me to play fetch. “Maybe I am no better than a golden retriever,” I mutter.
“You okay?” Mike asks, following me into the house.
Oh my gosh. The last thing I need is for Portia or Julie to start teasing me about Mike. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not mad, are you? I was teasing before. You are in no way a cactus. In fact”—he takes a long stride to get in front of me—“you’re quite…interesting.”
“Still think I’m the interesting one?” I shove past him, and he follows me up the stairs.
“That’s a compliment. Why are you upset?”
“You’re sunburned, Mike. It must have fried what little brains you had. Take it easy on the tequila, okay?”
“Bea.”
I shush him. “Not another word. There are sleeping infants!” I hiss. “Go. Shoo!”
He walks away, and I tiptoe into the nursery to grab the stuffed moose and blanket without managing to wake the two napping party guests.
I close the door quietly and wonder how this became my Sunday. Tiptoeing around infants I’m not even related to while they nap.
I stop in the study to make sure the affidavits are filed (they are) before heading downstairs. I’m about to take the blanket and moose outside when Adam stops me.
“Thank goodness” He pulls me back into the kitchen. “I need you to keep Mom away from her tarot cards.”
“You’re dripping wet!” And leaving puddles all over the travertine floor.
“She’s threatening to get her cards out and do readings for all of us. Stop her before this party turns into a séance.”
“You want me to stop Molly McKinney. Do you hear yourself? The woman is an unstoppable, single-minded force of matriarchal will.”
Adam grabs a couple of Margaritas from the fridge. “Convince her to get in the pool. Hide her cards. I don’t care what you do, just do it.”
“If you care so much, you do it.”
“I’ve got my hands full keeping Portia and Dad from scaring off all my cast.” He raises the margaritas he’s holding. “Plus, I don’t know where Mom hides them anymore. I’ll leave a trail of wet footprints.”
“Fine. Go.”
I grab Mom’s favorite tarot deck from the cookie jar, but it’s not like I have pockets in my crocheted cover-up. The pockets in my denim cutoffs are useless—the ones in front are decorative, and the ones in back are frayed and not functional. So I shove the cards in my waistband.
