“For one, it doesn’t require mixing flour and baking powder or baking soda,” I say smartly to myself. “Though, it does require rolling out your own pie crust, but pie crust is easy. Much easier than muffins or cookies.” I throw my arms up, letting them fall to my sides, the flour marking my pants. “I give up.”
I toss the bowl full of eggs and vanilla into the sink, hating that I’m wasting food, but I can’t do this anymore. Baking should be fun. Not stressful.
I look at the handle of moonshine on the table—the one I found when digging around in Grannie’s cabinet for the homemade vanilla I know she kept in there.
My gaze goes from the moonshine to the clock on the wall.
Three in the afternoon? That’s as good a time as any.
I grab a glass and pour some of the shine into it, then toss it back.
I hiss, holding back a gag.
“Wow,” I groan. “That’s gross.”
I take another, the alcohol warming my stomach and everything it passes on the way. It takes only minutes for me to feel the effects of it—this stuff is strong. Grannie warned me when I was younger. She said it wasn’t the type of alcohol you went shot-for-shot for. She used it for special occasions—though she never told me what that was, exactly.
Celebrating turning a whole family into chickens, maybe?
I frown at the alcohol. Did she really use this to celebrate?
“That’s terrible, Grannie. So terrible of you.”
I pour another, and then I’m laughing to myself as I look at the mess around the kitchen. Flour is sprinkled on the cabinets and walls. Eggshells are crushed along the counter. Bowls are piled in the sink, with dirtied pans stacked beside it.
I’ve never been drunk before. Not like this. I’ve had a couple of beers, glasses of wine, and even a shot or two… but this? This is something I’ve never felt before—like I’m floating and everything is nice.
“Hey, what’s going on in here?” Gus asks, sitting at the table.
I smile at him, unable to feel anything but happiness. Not that I wouldn’t be happy to see Gus. I like Gus. He’s hot and sweet.
“You should have some of this.”
He takes the bottle, smells it, and covers his nose. “Holy cow. What is that?”
“Grannie’s moonshine.” I giggle. “Drink it.”
“It smells toxic.”
“It’ll make you feel good.”
“What’ll make you feel good?” Rhett asks as he comes into the kitchen.
“This!” I say, picking up the glass jug and holding it out to him. “Have some.Please. Don’t let me be the only one.”
He shares a look with Gus, then shrugs and grabs a glass from the cabinet. He pours some and shoots it back, same way I did.
“Wow, that’s bad,” he chokes out.
“No, it’s good!” I laugh, rocking back in my seat. “After you have a few, it tastes like nothing.”
“Terrible,” Rhett says as he pours more. “Come on, Gus. Have some.”
He frowns, looking slightly disgusted as he watches Rhett take a mouthful and swallow.
“I think I’ll stick to beer.” He gets up to get one from the fridge.
“Suit yourself,” I say.
