“Tell that to the police officer who took your license.”
“I’ll have you know, I’m a wonderful driver.Allmy friends say so. That officer had it out for me.” She sniffed indignantly.
“Really, Gran? Why would a random officer have it out for you?” I snorted. “Also, your friends only said you’re awonderful driverbecause they’re afraid of you.”
“Excuse me? They are not!”
“They so are. Remember the time you mowed down Martha’s fence? It was right after she told you you always brake too hard. She thinks it was retaliation for hercomment, and ever since then, they’ve been too afraid to tell you the truth.”
“Pish-posh. She hit the dashonceand blamed it all on me. She’s too sensitive.” Gran made a dismissive gesture.
“Sure, Gran. You almost broke her nose!” I rolled my eyes.
“Nonsense. Martha’s always been an attention seeker.”
Pot meet kettle.
“Of course she has.”
“So, dear, who are we baking for?”
Heat rushed to my cheeks and I hastily turned toward the counter, pulling open cabinets and dragging out random ingredients. “It’s just, you know, just a … pavlova.”
Her eyebrows rose dramatically. “Apavlova?”
“That’s what I’ve just said.”
Please don’t ask, please don’t ask.
“Interesting.”
I huffed. “Not interesting at all. It’s just a … well, a pavlova.”
“Yes, we've established it's a pavlova, dear.Whois it for?”
“It’s for, well, I suppose you could say it’s for a friend?”
“A friend?” she echoed and I could feel her gaze burning into my back.
“Yes, Gran,” I groaned. “A friend.”
“Mhm, I see.” She clapped her hands once. “What’s the occasion?”
“A birthday.”
“Oooooh, is that right? I love birthdays! Well, let’s get cracking then. I’m going to die soon, you know; best not to waste my precious time.”
I should have known the universe wouldn’t let me bake in peace. Shooting her a pointed look over my shoulder, I bent down to dig out her ancient mixer.
Of fucking course it was shoved into the farthest corner of the deepest cabinet.
“Hand me the eggs, would you?” I called over my shoulder.
When I faced her, her eyes narrowed on me with the accuracy of a sniper.
“I know!” She pointed a crooked finger at the eggs. “It’s for our big shiny boy next door, isn’t it?”
“He’s not shiny.”
