“So youwereneglecting them.”
“No!” I screamed. “You are neglecting them. You’re so concerned with money and your company and being the big bad boss that you are not spending enough time with them!”
“Clearly I need to since you’re a bad influence!” he shouted at me from across the counter.
“Of course I’m a bad influence,” I raged. “I make terrible decisions. I have a terrible job. I have a terrible boss. I stress eat, and I impulsively shop, and then when I max out my credit cards, I impulsively bake to forget about how shitty and stressful my life is, and you know what? Aside from my own terrible decisions, you are the person that makes my life hell!”
“Fine,” Beck said, breathing hard. “You hate it so much with me, then you can leave. Consider yourself fired.”
28
Beck
My sisters started yelling at me right after Tess had grabbed her purse and headed out the front door, throwing her phone at me as a last parting shot.
“Why did you send her away?”
“What’s going to happen with Grandma?”
“Are we going to have to live with her?”
“I don’t want to eat coasters for dinner!”
“I’m hungry!”
Shit.
“Well…” I looked around at the empty containers. There wasn’t anything left. Also, the wine was all over the floor.
“I’ll order a pizza,” I promised.
Ding-dong!
“Tess!”
They ran to the door.
“Oh, it’s Grandma.”
Shit, shit, shit.
“Don’t let her in here!” I yelled then bit back another curse as the stately, elderly woman marched into the open kitchen and living area.
“Good evening, Mr. Svensson,” Ethel said and looked down her nose at the mess. “I have brought you a housewarming plant.”
She handed me a large fiddle-leaf fig in a white pot. “I had assumed you would have moved in by now.”
“We’re still in flux,” I lied, hoping I could guide her away from the large kitchen with its even larger pile of trash.
Ethel pursed her mouth. “Tess told me that you all were nicely settled in, and I should come over for dinner.”
Dammit.
“She’s quite a prolific texter. She practically wrote me a dissertation on the best wine and fried food pairings.” Ethel showed me her phone. There were thirty texts messages from Tess, confirming that Ethel could, quote, “For totally sure could come see the grlzzz!” followed by a long list of emojis.
“Unfortunately, Tess had an emergency,” I lied, “and had to step out.”
“No matter,” Ethel said. “I will take the girls for dinner. I know an excellent French—my god!” She pressed a hand to her chest. “I feel faint. Their hair! What have you done to their beautiful hair? I think I’m going to have a stroke.”
