I’ve learned a valuable lesson today. And that lesson would be to think before doing anything drastic such as whipping up a batch of laxative brownies. I’m sure Olivia will be very proud when I share my epiphany with her.
But first, I need to ask one little question. “So, did you, um, both enjoy the dessert?”
Ashley wrinkles her nose and shoots me a look like I just asked her to kill a sack full of puppies. Her thin face takes on even more of a pinched quality than usual.
Hmmm.
Would it really be so bad if she had a crap-o-thon in the bathroom?
Maybe not.
“Are you kidding me? I wouldnevereat that garbage.” Her upper lip curls with disdain. “Do you have any idea how many empty caloriesand grams of saturated fat are in something like that? It’s the equivalent of putting poison in your body.”
Normally, I would roll my eyes and walk away, but I can’t do that given the circumstances. Because if Ashley didn’t eat any of the brownies, that means…
I stare at Noah in slack-jawed horror. “You ate a third of the pan yourself?” My voice comes out sounding choked.
Please, please, please, tell me Carter was here and helped himself to the dessert, too.
Noah pats his flat belly. “Yup. Did I mention how delicious they were? Almost as good as Mom’s.”
I doubt Aunt Marnie’s secret ingredient is chocolate-flavored laxatives.
“Yeah,” I admit, my voice cracking on that one syllable. “You did.”
I wring my hands, trying to come up with a plan. Well, another plan. After this, there are no more plans. I’m officially resigning from plans.
Should I come clean and confess that I doctored up the brownies or stay silent? I gnaw my lower lip in silent debate. I mean…it’s possible the stimulant won’t have any effect on Noah. He easily weighs over two hundred pounds. Probably more like two-twenty or even two-thirty.
I narrow my eyes and look him over more carefully. Yeah, he’s definitely packed on a few pounds. That should work in my favor.
Just as that thought scampers through my mind, Noah shifts on the couch. His brows draw together as he lays a hand on his lower abdomen and rubs it. “I think I overdid it on the brownies.”
Ashley picks up her head from his chest. “I told you not to eat so much of them. Your stomach is gurgling.” She wrinkles her nose. “It’s kind of gross, babe.”
He pulls her back against him and rubs her shoulder. “I’m fine. No worries. Did I ever tell you about the time I demolished an entire strawberry-rhubarb pie in ten minutes flat? If that didn’t make me sick, nothing will. I’ve got an iron gut.” He glances at me. “Youremember that, Daze?” He shakes his head and smiles. “Mom was so pissed!”
I nod at the memory. “Yeah. Junior year of high school.” I’d thought Aunt Marnie was going to wring his neck. She’d picked the rhubarb and strawberries from her garden and had made the pie specifically for a party.
He grins, and they go back to watching TV.
I jerk my thumb toward the kitchen even though neither of them are paying me the least bit of attention. “I’m, ah, going to…” I don’t bother finishing the sentence. Instead, I back into the kitchen to hide.
I’m tempted to pick up my bag and duck out for the rest of the evening, but I can’t do that to Noah. I need to make sure he’s all right. Whatever happens is my fault. Even if he doesn’t realize it yet.
“Hey, Daze, would you mind getting me a ginger ale from the fridge?” he asks. “My stomach feels funky.”
“Um, yeah,” I call back. “No problem.” I grab a bottle of soda and head into the living room.
Is it my imagination or does Noah look pale?
Maybe a little sweaty?
And he’s shifting around as if he’s sitting on pins and needles and trying to get comfortable.
“Are you okay?” I pass him the bottle.
He turns to Ashley and says, “Babe, would you mind moving over and giving me some room?”
