Page 89 of Pucked Up Plans
“Did you make it?”
“Yes.”
“Then it won’t. Plus, you said you had three pieces. If it sucked, you wouldn’t have eaten that many.”
I’m amazed at his recall of detail. “Not much gets by you, huh?”
“Not with you, Tate.”
It’s the way he utters it, the emphasis on my name. It opens up a passion I’ve kept buried for the last six years.
“If I don’t go now, I won’t want to hang up. I’ll see you shortly after three tomorrow. If you text me a more specific time, your food will be warmed up and waiting for you.”
“Tate, I was kidding.”
“I know. But I want to do it for you.” More than he’ll ever appreciate.
“I have other plans when I get there. You can warm it after. Night. See you tomorrow.”
No chance to get another word in, the phone disconnects in my ear.
“Well, that was rude,” I say aloud to the empty room. “I can’t believe he just hung up on me.”
Still simmering, I head for the kitchen, prepared to relieve my aggression on the pile of dirty dishes in the farmhouse sink. When I get there, the sink is not only devoid of all dishes, but it’s gleaming back at me. And I get even more pissed off.
Aunt Marsha and Aubrey cuddle on the couch, the TV tuned to one of Aubrey’s favorite shows.
“Uh oh. Who pissed in your Cheerios?”
The cliché makes me laugh, and my frown slips away.
“When did you clean the kitchen? I need to alleviate some aggression, but the dishes are all done.”
“While you and Aubrey were on the phone. I’m sorry?” She looks just the opposite.
I throw myself down on the couch. I rarely get this worked up. At least in front of Aubrey.
“The floor still needs to be swept if that will have a similar effect.” She hides the smirk beginning to form behind her hand.
“Are they all difficult?”
“Who are they, dear?”
“Men.”
“In their way, they are. You’ll learn to ignore most of the small stuff, especially if he’s good at the big stuff.” She earns a laugh when she makes an “O” with her thumb and pointer and pushes a finger through.
“I’ll let you know tomorrow. More like Saturday since I’ll kinda be occupied most of tomorrow.”
“You get it, girl.”
Aubrey chooses that moment to clue into our conversation. “What’s Mommy going to get?”
“When you’re older, I’ll tell you. And by older, I mean over eighteen.”
Just because I had sex at sixteen doesn’t mean I want her to follow in my footsteps. I wouldn’t trade my decision regarding her, but hopefully, she can learn from my mistakes.
A cat struts in front of the TV, catching Aubrey’s attention. “Here comes Scooter again. Why can’t she just leave me alone?”
