And when she returns home from work it’s like she never even discovered her hydrangeas were massacred. She asks Gramma Sharon to stay for dinner—“Like I’d leave and cook for myself?”—then comes to give me a hug, which I gladly accept.
“We good?” she asks.
I nod and she leaves it at that. I don’t bother telling her about the unopened box of fertilizer.
“You see the weather this weekend?” Gramma Sharon asks as she sips bourbon after dinner. “Gonna be a beautiful one. We should have a family barbecue. How’s Sunday?”
“We’re going to Mexico this weekend,” Marcus says from the kitchen sink, where he’s washing dishes.
“Bullshit.” Gramma Sharon turns her attention to me. “I doubt this one is allowed to leave the country. Do you even have a passport?”
Not in Nate’s name and certainly not in my own.
“Then Sunday barbecue sounds great,” Marcus says with barely contained sarcasm. “What are you bringing, Sharon?”
She snorts. “You can handle this one. Or have it catered. I don’t care.”
Marcus shoots a glance at Valencia behind Gramma Sharon’s back that can only be interpreted as annoyance. He shuts off the water and dries his hands on a dish towel. “Well, we won’t be having acookoutcatered. But fine. We will provide food, service, drinks, and venue.”
“Great,” Gramma Sharon says, probably sensing the attitude in Marcus’s voice and digging in to show he isn’t bothering her. “Then, as usual, I’ll provide the entertainment. Make Watergate salad, too!”
“There I’m drawing the line,” he says.
“What’s Watergate salad?” I ask.
“Something your grandmother brings every time we have a cookout,” Marcus says, sounding disgusted. “And if you want it, Sharon, it’s on you to make it.”
“I made the pies last time!”
Marcus smirks as he sips his wine. “Aw shucks, no Watergate salad for Gramma Sharon.”
“I’ll make it for you, Gramma,” I say, wrapping my arm around her shoulder.
“See?” She leans up and kisses me on the cheek. “My grandchildren care about me.”
Marcus and Valencia laugh and Marcus looks over at me. “You look it up and then let me know how excited you are to make it. Ifyoupromise to help her eat it so we aren’t stuck with the leftovers, I’ll buy the ingredients for you.”
“Deal,” I say without hesitation.
Marcus’s jaw drops and he speaks to me, again unprompted. “You didn’t even look it up!”
“I trust Gramma’s taste.”
Valencia grimaces. “Oh, honey, that’s a mistake.”
Even Gramma Sharon laughs at that.
Just then, Easton enters the kitchen, wearing a different outfit than he had on earlier. This time he’s in jeans and a button-down with the sleeves rolled up. “What’s a mistake?”
“We’re having a barbecue on Sunday,” Marcus says. “Invite JT. Maybe if he’s stoned enough we can pawn off some Watergate salad on him.”
Outside, Chardonnay starts barking. Probably at Miles.
“Can I invite a friend, too?” I ask.
“Sure, honey,” Valencia says with a smile. She doesn’t ask who I want to bring because she knows the only person I know is Miles. Easton, though, gives me a confused look.
“What friends do you have?”
