I chewed my lip.
“I’m supposed to go to Florida, but I can cancel.”
I just had to tell Grayson, and then he would hate me and think I was trying to bail on him.
“Go to Florida,” McKenna assured me. “Your mom will be so disappointed if you don’t go. We can go protest outside the landlord’s house next weekend too.”
My eyes started twitching.
“My … mom?”
My phone started ringing with an incoming video call.
“I can’t wait to see you this weekend!” My mom gushed when I had connected to the video call.
McKenna was looking up at the ceiling of the studio apartment, looking guilty.
“I—”
My mom made an exaggerated sad face, a leftover habit from being a former Ariel at Disney World. “I’m sorry, Orange Blossom, was it supposed to be a surprise?”
No, it was supposed to be Grayson and me alone in a quaint cottage on the beach.
“Yeah, a surprise,” I said weakly.
“I have your room all ready, including Gizzy’s basket,” my mom assured me. “Now I called to ask what kind of food Grayson likes.”
“McKenna said he only drinks tea.” My dad’s face appeared on the video screen.
I was trying very hard not to scream.
“I actually might have to cancel,” I said. “We’re all going to protest at the landlord’s house this weekend. He shut off the water.”
“Shut off the water?” my mom was horrified.
“Just during the day.”
“You think positive and light a candle,” my mom said solemnly. “This will all work itself out. The landlord’s probably just in a tough spot and is trying to balance everyone’s needs. Let’s give people the benefit of the doubt.”
“Right,” I said. “Let’s think positive.” Though I was feeling particularly negative right about then.
“Why don’t you bake him some cupcakes,” my dad suggested, “and help brighten his day?”
“With razor blades in them,” Grenadine hollered in the background.
“Do you want me to make baked ziti?” my mom asked. “Does Grayson liked baked ziti?”
“I don’t know if he’s ever had it,” I said through clenched teeth.
“No man can resist your mom’s baked ziti,” my dad boasted. “Grayson doesn’t have any allergies, does he? Do we need to call his parents and check?”
“No, absolutely do not call his mom.”
“Watch your tone, Alexandra. We’re trying to be good hosts for your very first boyfriend,” my mom chastised.
“I’m so excited. Maybe this is her one true love,” my dad gushed. “I’m putting this in the scrapbook.”
I slid a hand over my face.
