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“I’d only eat one of those, though. Otherwise, you’ll be drooling on the floor in an hour.”
“You speaking from experience?”
“Your grandma was not impressed when I passed out in my lounger so hard that I peed myself.”
I’m in the middle of a sip of scotch—I mixed it with ginger ale when my dad wasn’t looking because I can’t stand the taste of the stuff—and I start choking. I slam my fist into my chest a few times and cough, clearing my throat. “Are you serious?”
“As a heart attack.”
“You’re almost eighty, Gram-pot. You should probably stop using that phrase.”
He waves a hand around in the air. “Ack, we all go sometime. I hope my end is swift like a reaper in the night.” He makes a circle around his face. “What’s eating at you, Mav? You’re not your usual happy-go-lucky self.”
I focus on my tiles. “Just got a lot on my mind. Final semester of my degree, contract talks coming, and all that.”
“What about woman problems? You got any of those?”
“Nah. No woman problems.” I open the baggie and pop a cookie into my mouth.
“Not ready to talk about it, then.”
I give him an arched brow. “There’s nothing to talk about.”
“I remember what your dad was like when he messed things up with your mom by being a grade-A jackass. He wore the same mopey expression you’re sporting. Walked around like Eeyore, moaning about how he lost the best thing that ever happened to him. And over a fucking endorsement campaign. It was ridiculous.” He shakes his head. “Lucky for him, your mother is an understanding woman. I don’t think the good genetics hurt him much either.” He starts laying tiles and spells the word C-U-S-H.
“Those two are a couple of weirdos.”
“Well, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. And when you’re looking at the same kind of career as your dad, if that’s still your plan . . .” He gives me a somewhat skeptical look. “You need someone who’s going to stand beside you and keep you grounded. Your dad found that in your mom, and when he realized what he had, he was pretty relentless in his pursuit. I have a feeling you’ll be the same.”
“I guess in time we’ll see.” I tally his points and huff a laugh when I realize what the letters I have will spell if I use the C from Gram-pot’scush.
Even when I try not to think about her, there she is.
By the time we’re called for dinner, I’m feeling the cookie I ate. My mom asks me to fold the napkins, like I always do for events like this, but I keep messing them up, so they look like a bunch of cranes that have flown into the sides of houses. It also takes me way longer than usual. And I eat an entire bowl of olives in the process, leaving oily fingerprints on all the cranes.
On the upside, I have an appetite. I eat enough to put myself in a food coma.
My mom stops me on my way up to my room. “Gram-pot gave you one of his cookies, didn’t he?”
“How’d you know?”
“Your eyes are all bloodshot, and you ate an obscene amount of scalloped potatoes at dinner.”
“I love scalloped potatoes.”
“I know. But you’re definitely high.”
“Are you going to tell Dad?” He’ll be pissed if he knows I ate a cookie. The team does random drug tests, and after the winter holidays is prime testing time. Same with after spring break. Everyone knows it. Me included.
“Of course not.”
“Are you going to make me tell him?”
She shakes her head. “No, but don’t think I haven’t noticed that you and River have switched roles. He’s all happy and chatty, and you’re all . . . morose and reclusive.”
“I’m fine, Mom. I promise. But I need to lie down.”
“Okay. I guess I’ll have to take your word for it.” She steps aside. “But I will be pinning you down over the next few days to have a chat. Don’t think you’ll get to leave without at least one mother-son bonding sesh.”
