Page 32 of The F*ck-It List

“BB?” My dad asks.

“Yeah, Boss Bea,” Connor says, blowing his hair out of his eyes again. “Anyone gonna take this cake off my hands, it’s heavy as fuck.”

“Language!” Dad scolds.

“What do you think we’re going to do with it?” Joanie asks. “Put it on the counter, you little shit.”

“Language!” Mum and Dad say at the same time and Bea snorts a laugh, trying to cover it behind her hand.

“Sorry,” I say, sitting in the chair next to her. “It gets a little crazy in here.”

Her cheeks are pushed high and round with the force of her smile, blue eyes sparkling as she bumps me with her shoulder, the skin of her arm brushing mine has my stomach doing a flip. “I kind of love it.”

You’re welcome any time. It’s on the tip of my tongue to say but I stop myself. It would be weird, right? I’m just doing her a solid because it was clear she was feeling a little lonely and her mum bailed on her and her ex with the stupid abs is sending pictures of his junk to his current girlfriend. I was just being neighbourly. Anyone would have invited her over. But it’s a one-time thing, there’s no way I can look at that face across the table each week and not start having feelings I certainly don’t want to be having. Never again.

“Good,” I say instead.

The afternoon rolls on in the way it usually does; my parents stop caring about the cursing in front of their guest, and Joanie, Connor, and I are apparently great entertainment if Bea’s quiet laughter at ourconstant bickering is anything to go by. Dad asks Bea if Connor’s kept out of trouble at work, and Connor rolls his eyes in the way moody teenagers have perfected. When Bea gushes about how great my nephew has been, I can’t help but feel a bolt of pride through my chest. Hearing someone outside of the family say nice things about him is oddly emotional. Connor squirms uncomfortably at all the praise, and Joanie smacks a wet kiss on his cheek.

“Gross,” Connor says, wiping his cheek.

“I’m proud of my boy,” Joanie pouts, pinching where her lips had just left a lipstick mark.

“Get off.” He shrugs her off, but he’s smirking, proud of himself.

“Bea, I hear you’ve moved from London?” Dad asks.

Bea puts her hand over her mouth as she chews her roast beef, nodding. When she swallows, she smiles kindly and clears her throat. “Uh, yeah. I’m a Londoner, born and raised.”

I feel I’ve done a good job of hiding the disgust on my face until Joanie kicks me under the table. Everyone turns to me when I grunt in pain; my sister always manages to find the most painful spots.

“August?” Mum asks, wide eyed.

“Love London,” I croak. “Hear it’s…busy.” I hate London, at least I’m pretty sure I would, but it’s where everyone always wanted to go. To run off to and leave everyone else behind.Because London’s exciting, August. You should try it, August.

“Uh yeah, definitely busy,” Bea agrees.

“And have you left family behind?” Dad asks, not covering his mouth as he speaks with it full.

“Yeah, my mum is still in the city.” Bea looks down at her plate, pushing vegetables around.

“I bet she’s sad you’ve moved so far away,” Mum adds, sadly.

Bea doesn’t answer right away but eventually nods with a tight smile.

“And your father?” Dad asks.

“Jeesh, Dad,” Joanie mutters.

“What?”

“You think maybe she didn’t mention him for a reason?” Joanie speaks out of the side of her mouth like she’s hiding the words from Bea even though we can all hear.

“It’s okay,” Bea laughs. “I don’t have a relationship with my father.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,” Mum says sympathetically.

Bea shrugs. “It’s all good.”