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“I told you to tell me about any money you owe. I’ll pay it.”
“You won’t.” He opens a smaller drawer, coming out with a meat thermometer. “Open the can of cranberry sauce, would you? Your grandmother will be here soon.” My dad, always evading tough discussions rather than facing them head on. At least that’s how it works if the issues are his.
I conveniently ignore any possible resemblance I might have to him in this area.
“I’m the reason you owe this money.”
“You’re not.”
“Yes. I am. We both know how you ended up in the hospital.”
“Cole—”
“That’s some lovely smelling soap you have in the bathroom. Is it apple cider? Very seasonal.” Summer strolls into the kitchen, her hands pressed to her nose. She’s all positive sunshine, and I hate the fact that there’s already a dark cloud over this visit, whether she realizes it or not.
Who am I kidding? The second Summer stops sniffing her fingers, she bounces her gaze between the two of us, picking up on the tension in the room.
She’s too perceptive.
“Not sure,” my father answers, voice gruff. “Just grabbed one off the shelf.”
“Well, kudos to you and your ability to pick random amazing things. Is there anything I can do to help?”
“Distract my son,” my father says, almost making a joke.
“Dad…” I hesitate, not sure what I’m willing to talk about with Summer here. Despite the fact that this shit needs to be figured out, I’m too ashamed to have her know the role I played in my Dad’s no-longer-perfect health. That would no doubt lead to why he has no svaings to pay what his health insurance didn’t cover.
Lawyers are expensive.
My struggle for words comes to an end with the sound of the front door opening.
“I’m here!” My grandmother waltzes into the kitchen, a riot of color.
She has on a floor-length dress and feathered earrings, along with a tasseled shawl. People sometimes mistake her for one of the fortune tellers that set up tables in the French Quarter. Doesn’t help that she’s probably carrying a deck of tarot cards in her bag right now.
Summer’s eyes go wide, flicking between me and the vibrant woman I somehow share blood with.
“Oh, look at you.” She comes straight to me, setting affectionate hands on my shoulders. “That sweater is everything I hoped, and you make it more. You know, I found that when I lived in Alaska a few years back. Beautiful state, but the winters are rough. Dark all day and cold enough to kill a yeti.”
With a bigger audience, I know I have to give up on the argument with my dad. For now.
Instead, I smirk at my grandmother. “Is this made of yeti fur then?”
She gives me a cheeky grin. “If only. That stuff is expensive. I love you, but not enough to purchase mythical creature clothing.”
“You two,” Dad grumbles, leaving the kitchen with his eyes on the backdoor.
Mama Al, as she insisted I call her since I was old enough to talk, watches the surly form of her son retreat. “Beer can chicken?”
“Can’t change a classic,” I offer back.
“His heart?”
“We’ll make sure he sticks to white meat.” It’s the best I can do. My father doesn’t like to be managed. Hence the drawer stuffed full of bills he refuses to talk to me about.
“Now, if you would please introduce me to this darling woman you have beside you. Or is she a stranger who wandered in off the streets that I need to help shoo from the house?”
“Oh please don’t shoo me! I’ll be good, I swear!” Summer blinks up at me, making her eyes all wide and innocent looking. It’s like I’m staring down at a classic princess cartoon.
