Aunt Barb sniffed. “I’ve heard athletes don’t eat carbs.” Then she pushed a smaller dish of noodles toward me. “These are zucchini noodles. I can’t say if they’re good or not.”
My eyes widened. “You made me zucchini noodles?”
She unfolded her napkin and placed it on her lap, not looking at me. “It took me next to no time. Eat them—or don’t.”
Something told me this wasn’t true. And even if it was, Aunt Barb had still gone out of her way for me, and I didn’t take that lightly. I hated zucchini with the heat of a thousand suns, but I was going to eat every last scrap in this dish.
“Thank you.” I piled my plate high with my special noodles. They were green and utterly revolting, but they were going down the hatch, no matter what. “I really appreciate it.”
Aunt Barb muttered, “You’re welcome,” instead of grunting, and I took that as a win.
Kylie twirled her noodles around her fork. “So, Ben, Mazzy’s at her study group with Garrett again?”
“It’s Wednesday,” Barb snapped. “Of course she is.”
Kylie speared a meatball. “I looked him up on Instagram. He’s pretty cute…in that preppy, future-senator way. I’m not sure he’s Mazzy’s type, but she’d have to be blind not to think he’s attractive.”
I coughed into my napkin. “Huh.”
Kylie tilted her head. “You don’t agree?”
I shrugged, doing my best impression of someone whodidn’twant to throw Garrett’s fancy SUV into the nearest ditch. “He’s notmytype.”
Barb’s brow furrowed even deeper than usual. “You’re scowling.”
Hello, Pot, meet Kettle.
Of course, I didn’t say that. I didn’t want a potandkettle to meet my skull.
“I’m not scowling,” I said automatically.
“Your eyebrows are touching,” Kylie said helpfully.
“Why are you scowling?” Barb asked.
“I really don’t think I am.” I dragged my fingers over the deep ruts in my forehead. “I just don’t think Garrett’s anything special.”
Barb hmphed. “He’s been circling around all year, picking that girl up as if she can’t drive herself.” She shook her head. “I say, piss or get off the pot. My Mazzy needs a man of action. He’s going to circle her until he’s dizzy and wind up going in the wrong direction.”
This was the night of pot idioms, apparently. Aunt Barb’s was kind of gross, but I heard her. She was seeing what I saw. Garrett was interested, but he’d been too chickenshit to make a move.
Did Mazzy want him to?
The zucchini swam in my stomach.
Kylie picked up her water glass. “The question is, would Mazzy prefer someoneelsecircling her?”
Barb’s fork scraped her plate. “She doesn’t have the time to play games, and she’s too smart to wait around for a gutless man.”
“That’s true.” Kylie’s gaze gleamed when it met mine. “If you don’t want to end up being the babysitter while Mazz is out on dates, you might want to say that…sooner rather than later.”
Katty looked up from her plate. “Benny’s not my babysitter. He’s my dad.”
Kylie gave Katty’s shoulders a squeeze. “You’re right, honeybun. What was I even thinking?”
I cleared my throat and reached for another meatball, mostly for something to do with my hands. “Guess that’s settled.”
Kylie hummed. “By the way, Mazzy’s birthday is next Saturday.”
