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Still something missing.
With a sigh, I look at Honey and nod.
Eyes gleaming with satisfaction, Honey pulls out a plastic bag filled with a mixture of M&Ms, raisins, little marshmallows, and candy corn.
I make sure the waitress isn’t looking and dump the contents of the bag onto my plate.
Finally, the French toast is sweet enough for me. Unfortunately, I’ve just encouraged Honey’s obsessive frugality. As expected, to avoid paying extra for the toppings, she brought them with her to the restaurant. Earlier, she insisted we order orange juice that she turned into mimosas with the champagne from her flask, and I fully expect her to whip out a coupon for the meal itself when the bill arrives.
Yep, my badass sister makes Scrooge McDuck seem like a big spender in comparison. Of course, if someone says something about it to her face, she’ll cut a bitch.
While I’m dealing with my toast, Blue studies the eggs on Honey’s plate with suspicion. My brave spy sister fears and hates anything to do with birds. Her need to mock me eventually prevails, however. Looking up, she pins me with an intent stare. “Now that your diabetes is assured, can I ask a few questions about your work?”
Gia, who was also eyeing Honey’s eggs disapprovingly, no doubt worried about salmonella or some other germ, glances at Blue with interest. “Do you mean Operation Big Sniff or the jilling-off blog?”
“The paddling-the-pink-canoe blog.” Blue turns to me. “Why a blog? Are we in 2003?”
I sigh. “I’ve tried making videos on social media, but most platforms are prudish and limit what I can say on the subject. Also, for reasons known only to search engine algorithms, my blog is semi-popular.”
Gia arches a black-dyed eyebrow. “Search engine algorithms?”
“If you search ‘jilling off,’ I’m one of the top results. Same for ‘female masturbation.’”
Honey looks impressed. “Does that translate into lots of money?”
I give her a glassy stare. “Yeah, I rent a shithole in Staten Island just for kicks.”
“You could be doing that because you like saving money.” Blue furtively glances at Honey.
I grimace. “I wish. I’m drowning in credit card debt. Banner ads barely put food on my table. The way to make real money is by getting a sponsor, but that hasn’t happened for me in a while.”
“Then why do it?” Gia asks.
“Because it’s my passion,” I say. “Out of everyone, you should understand that.”
Instead of making more masturbation digs, Gia nods solemnly. For the longest time, her love of magic didn’t pay much either, but her fortunes have recently changed.
“All I know is I’m not giving up,” I say, and I’m not sure if I’m trying to convince my sisters or myself. “I just need to find a big sponsor and—”
I gag as the stench of aftershave defeats my nose filters and begins molesting my nostrils. Turning, I see the offender, a waiter carrying a pitcher of water.
“We don’t need that, thanks.” I wave him away, like a stink bug.
“You realize he was cute?” Honey asks.
I make another gagging sound. “He must’ve soaked in a bathtub of Old Spice for a couple of days before reporting to work.”
“The horror,” Gia says with an eyeroll.
“Perfumes and colognes are like farts that cost money,” I say.
Blue opens her mouth, no doubt to say something snide, but karma lands right in the middle of our table—in the form of a cute little green parrot.
With speed even James Bond would envy, Blue dives under the table.
The bird hops over to a plate with plain toast and pecks at it as if we don’t exist.
Gia stares at the bird, wide-eyed. “This must be someone’s pet, right?”
