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“We have to go, Aunt Francie, but how are you doin’? What’s the latest news from the doctors?” I heard Gigi ask.
Francie said, “They’re gonna run some more tests.”
“That’s what you keep saying. You get the results yet from the last battery of tests?” she asked.
“Not yet.”
Francie broke out into a coughing fit as I walked two of the boxes out, noting Gigi’s forehead was wrinkled with concern.
When I was back, Gigi asked, “You being honest with me?”
Francie jerked back, then took a puff of her cigarette. “You callin’ me a liar?”
“I really wish you’d stop smoking, Aunt Francie,” my girl added, fanning her face with irritation.
“Ain’t gonna make no difference now,” she muttered.
“What’s that mean?” Gigi asked.
“None of anyone’s fuckin’ business!” Francie barked. “If I get results I wanna share, I’ll do that.”
I took the last two boxes out and put them in the back of the pickup, then went back in, hearing, “Why aren’t you gonna stay for supper?”
“That’s all right. If shit is none of my business, no point in me bein’ here, is there? We’re gonna hit the road.”
I wanted to high five my girl for saying that.
“Stay. I’ll order your favorite dinner,” Francie offered, sounding less bitchy. Sounding kinda desperate in fact.
“Oh yeah? What’s my favorite dinner?” she snapped. “When have you or anyone else in this family ever paid attention to what my favorite anything is?”
I was more than a little proud of her. She was spitting nails. It was about time.
Francie blanched. “The Alice Springs chicken from the Outback. Their baked potato. Got it for you for your birthday that one time and you said it was the best thing you ever ate. You ate half the huge bloomin’ onion though and you got so sick I had to take you to the emergency room. You went on like you were dying. Spent five fuckin’ hours there.”
“Her favorite food is spaghetti,” Grant corrected. “Used to call it bis-getti when she was a tot.”
“Can’t eat spaghetti, Daddy. I’m allergic to it. ”
“It’s still your favorite,” he maintained.
She sighed. “I was allergic to the bloomin’ onion batter, too. I was allergic to a lot of things, and no one cared to protect me from them when I was a kid. And god, do we have to hear about the Alice Springs chicken again?” She put her fingers to her temples.
“You were always a sweet little thing,” Grant stated. “Voice like an angel. Tried to get you to use that to your advantage, but you and your stage fright. Coulda bought an Outback franchise of our own if you’d gotten over it.”
“Who’s advantage?” Gigi challenged. “Another speech I’m sick of hearing.”
I shot her a look of understanding and waited by the door, opening it and gesturing to my girl.
“Again?” Francie parroted like she didn’t understand. “What’s that mean? Again about the Alice Springs chicken?”
“What?” Gigi clipped.
“Alice Springs chicken again, you said. What’s that mean? When’s the last time we talked about that?”
“You took me to one birthday dinner in my whole life.” Gigi stuck her pointy finger up. “One. And you’ve talked about it since then bringing it up at least a couple times a year ‘that time you took me to Outback’ like it was the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me. And sadly, other than when Kailey saved me from getting raped by her daddy it probably was at that stage. But we both know you took me out for that birthday dinner to punish Kailey for something stupid because she had to stay at home and wash the floors while we were gone. God, I’m sick of this garbage. Why are we like this? For real? Why can’t we resemble some sort of family?”
“Oh, so it’s all about you and what you want, is it? Did a lot for you when you had nobody, girl,” Francie bit off. “How soon you fuckin’ forget. He sure wasn’t gonna step up.” She jerked her thumb at her brother.
“What the fuck did I do?” Grant gasped. “You offered.”
“Yeah, cuz you were such a fuck up and Gianna’s mother sure didn’t want her.”
“Thanks for once again talking about how my momma didn’t want me. That’s the only thing you talk about more than the Alice Flippin’ Springs chicken. And I sure love hearin’ it, don’t I?” Gigi folded her arms over her chest. “More like you did it for the extra check and the food stamps, yeah. And so you could act like Saint Francie and tell everyone as often as you could that you took us in because nobody else would. You think maybe, just maybe if either of you gave a shit about Kailey after Rhonda died, she might’ve turned over a new leaf?”
“She wasn’t my kin,” Grant shrugged. “Rhonda divorced me and took you. You and Kailey wanted to stay together, and I didn’t have the room, but my sister did.”
