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The temptation to cave and agree to stay with him sits heavily on my chest—and I’m talking elephant heavy. Which is why I need a distraction.
It’s edging on eight o’clock, which means Gramma will be up. She was probably up before I was, but I was taught—by her—that calling someone before a certain time was considered uncouth. Although, I think our extenuating circumstances would maybe buy me a pass.
I slip my phone from my pocket and dial her number. “Your mother said you’re at a friend’s house,” she says in way of greeting.
“Yes, ma’am. I hope that’s okay.”
“You’re a grown woman, Stacia Iris.” She clucks her tongue. “Truth be told, I wouldn’t want to sleep on no floor either.”
“How’s Mom?”
“She’s cradling a cup of coffee, staring at the wall,” Gramma sighs. “I don’t know what to do for her; I worry she’ll be like this until Ken is home…”
And if we don’t get him home soon, she may just stay this way. Her unspoken words ring through my mind as if she’d spoken them aloud.
“I’m working on it, Gramma.”
“I know you are, dear. Harrison women get shit done.”
My lips tip up in a grin. “That we do, Gramma. That we do. I’ll check in later. Love you.”
“Love you, too,” she replies, and I end the call.
Feeling renewed, I tread back out to the living area in search of a pen and paper.
Secretly, I’m hoping West isn’t still here. But those hopes are quickly dashed on the rocks, as he’s deep into some video game with Brock on the couch. Huh. Guess he and AJ opted for a quickie for round two.
I hear commotion in the kitchen and follow it, knowing I’ll find my best friend in there whipping up some concoction for us to eat. “You all good?” she asks when I enter.
“Meh.”
“Did you and West get everything sorted?”
Not wanting to deflate her optimism, I shrug noncommittally. She eyes me skeptically but doesn’t pick. “Wanna help me make breakfast?”
I laugh. “Uh, no. I can’t cook, and you know it.”
“Luckily, heating a Toaster Strudel doesn’t require much talent.”
Scoffing, I say, “Well, I don’t think Gretchen Weiners’ father, the inventor of Toaster Strudel, would be too pleased with this.”
We both dissolve into a fit of giggles. “What’s so funny?” Brock hollers from the couch.
“Mean Girls things,” AJ calls back, making me grin, because I know she’s made him watch the movie at least a hundred times.
A few minutes later, we carry a plate of flaky, frosted, strawberry and cream cheese goodness out to the guys. “Courtesy of Stacia’s badass toaster-ing skills and the Weiners family,” AJ announces, placing the plate down onto the table with exaggerated flourish.
West shakes his head. “I don’t get why women are so obsessed with that damn movie.”
I roll my eyes at him, feeling personally attacked. “You’d have to watch it to get it.”
He rolls his right back. “Girl, I’ve seen that movie more times than I can count, and let me tell you, the only upside is Miss Lohan. Mmm. She was in her prime for that one.”
“Riiight, sure.” I snatch a strudel off the plate.
I start to lower myself down onto the cushion next to West, but he kicks his feet up onto it, blocking me. I glare, but he simply shrugs and says, “‘You can’t sit with us.’”
A cheesy grin splits my cheeks. “That’s too easy. Everyone knows that line.” I nudge his feet off of the couch and claim my seat.
Brock chimes in, “You don’t even go here!” making us all laugh. AJ quotes the iconic line about Wednesday and wearing pink. But I’m still waiting on Mr. Sexy Chest to wow me.
“It’s okay if it’s too hard,” I offer with a smarmy smile, giving him an out.
“Don’t count me out yet. I’m trying to pick a good one.”
“More like trying to buy yourself some time. It’s okay, West. Not everyone can be a Mean Girls aficionado.”
He doesn’t bother replying, taking his out, and conversation between AJ, Brock, and myself picks up. “I have a few phone calls I need to make,” I say, standing to excuse myself. “I’ll be back.”
“’Kay, babe,” AJ says, snuggling into Brock who simply nods with a smile. West catches my gaze, a smile playing on his sinful lips. “Grool.”
“Grool?” I ask, wondering what on earth he’s saying.
“Yeah. ‘I meant to say great but then I started to say cool.’?”
That’s all it takes for me to lose it. I’m damn near doubled over laughing. “Oh. Oh my God.” I wipe the tears from my eyes. “That was amazing.”
West winks. “I’ve heard that a time or two.”
“Don’t flatter yourself, dude. You’re more of a Shane than an Aaron,” I quip as I saunter back toward the guest room.
“Girl, please. I’m Aaron Samuels and Glen Coco all rolled into one!” West hollers to my retreating back, making my smile grow even broader, because he’s right—he’s totally an Aaron, and forget four candy canes, he’d probably get like thirty.
