“Of course we do,” Zippy said.
“Absolutely.” Baron nodded.
She didn’t believe any of them. They all thought they were in charge of her. And it was all Ink’s fault.
She crossed her arms over her chest and gave him a look.
Ink just stared back at her. “What’s that look about?”
“Because everybody thinks they get to tell me what to do. And it’s your fault.”
Ink pointed at his chest. “Me?”
“Yes, you.”
“No, we don’t, Ma,” Royal said. “We’re just looking out for you.”
“Yeah, Ma.” Baron licked his fingers. “Someone’s got to make sure you do what you’re told.”
Do what she was told?
Zippy nodded. “We always have to do what Dad says.”
“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing,” Ink said as he pointed at Betsy.
“What am I doing?” she asked.
“Trying to distract me from the reason why you were running through the house. In socks. You could have easily slipped and hurt yourself.”
Oh shoot! She’d managed to distract herself.
“The plates!” she cried. “I’m missing a set of paper plates. What are we going to do? We haven’t got enough plates to feed everybody. I knew I should’ve bought two extra sets.”
“Ma, how many people are you expecting?” Baron asked. “Because there looks to be about eighty paper plates there.” He pointed over at the pile of plates sitting on the counter.
“There should be a hundred,” she told him.
“Pretty sure there’s around forty people coming today,” Ink said. “So why would we need a hundred paper plates?”
“Well, somebody might have one serving and then they might want seconds and get a fresh plate. And then there’s dessert! Or what if some of the plates get destroyed by a roguefirework? Then they might need another plate. So I figured I needed two or three plates per person. Actually, now that I think about it, that doesn’t seem like enough.”
“Okay, Brown Eyes. I need you to take a deep breath. You’re getting stressed and I don’t like it,” Ink told her. “Take a deep breath in. Slowly. One. Two. Three. Now, out. One. Two. Three. Good girl. And again.”
She breathed in and out with his words and felt herself starting to calm.
A flush of embarrassment filled her cheeks.
“I was acting like a crazy person, wasn’t I?” she muttered.
“We’d never call you crazy, Ma,” Baron said. “Just a little eccentric.”
“No, I don’t think eccentric is the right word,” Royal told him. “You were never very good at English, were you, brother?”
“No, I’m much better at blowing things up than I am at deciphering Shakespeare.”
“Who isn’t?” Royal said.
“Well, you aced that test on Shakespeare back in school,” Baron pointed out.
