Page 14 of Weddings, Revenge & Fake Dating

I give Dex a sassy look. He points a spatula in my direction as if he’s saying watch yourself.

Mom joins them at the counter with her gaze laser-focused on her iPad. She’s reading the obituaries again. Dex settles a freshly made Bloody Mary near her hand.

“How about this guy?” Mom says, then reads aloud. “‘Maria is survived by her husband, George, who was a photographer for Playboy.’ I could use some new sexy pinup photos. Look at this picture of them. Poor George.” She holds up her iPad as I near.

I steady the tablet. Maria was a one-hundred-year-old mummified raisin, while George is a younger silver fox who’s exotic and gorgeous.

“Bravo, Maria.” I cock a brow. “But what about Captain Edwin?”

“I’ve got aerial sex tapes to remember him by,” she says with a conspiratorial grin.

“And a coffin,” Freddie says helpfully.

“What?” I follow the direction of his hand and find a pearly white coffin sitting on the balcony in the blazing sunshine. A seagull stands on top.

I scowl. “Please tell me there’s not a dead body in there.”

Mom shrugs.

“It’s comfy,” Freddie says. “I slept in it last night.”

“What’s wrong with you?” I ask him seriously.

He bares his teeth, revealing a pair of costume vampire fangs.

I shake my head. Knowing Freddie, he’s been digging through the party supplies in my room. He’s always had trouble with boundaries.

“Grandma, why read those if they upset you?” Dex slices grapefruit.

“Death notices don’t make Grandma sad. She’s vetting potential romantic conquests.”

I steal an extra doughnut from Freddie’s plate. Dex has been baking again. I take a bite but quickly spit it out in my hand. It tastes like mold-crusted cigarettes. I hide the evidence before Dex sees.

“Dex, it’s like this. Sometimes, when a woman reaches a certain age, she needs a younger man to make her feel uncertain about said age.” Mom’s hand moves to her Bloody Mary where her knobby fingers stroke a long celery stick.

I think I’m the only one who notices her whacking off the veg until Freddie’s mouth drops open. I cover his eyes with my palms until she stops.

“Stop. I don’t want to know.” Dexter waves a kitchen towel like a white flag.

“Jeanie, explain it. Use your nice mom-speak,” Mom says.

Both impressionable teens stare at me, one more innocent than the other.

My mom’s ferocious sexual appetite I can explain, but translated into responsible parent-speak? Not a chance. I glance at the ceiling, considering.

“Hmm . . . well . . .” I release an exaggerated breath. “I’ve got nothing. Oh, wait, I know.” I clap. “Remember that educational cartoon I showed you in the third grade? Mommy, Where Did I Come From?”

Dexter drops his spatula.

“Oh, stop, Jeanie.” Mom turns to Dex. “I just want to fuck George’s brains out. Okay?”

“Grandma!” Dex slaps his hands over his reddening face.

Freddie giggles. “Dude, that’s messed up. Your mom made you watch a sex ed cartoon?”

“Your parents explained sex to you with a doughnut and cream-filled cannoli,” Dex says with an eye roll.

“They own a bakery. They only speak the language of carbs—as do I.” Freddie picks up a doughnut and pumps his finger through the hole.