“Yes.” William chuckles, and it’s fake as fuck. “I deal primarily with intellectual property cases. It can be a bit tedious, but I enjoy it.”
Said no one ever.
I feel a yawn coming on, and I do my best to keep it inside of me. We still haven’t been allowed to dig in to Mom’s feast here because we’re waiting on the cheating bastard to finish up his monologue.
“I’ve been with the firm five years.”
I think Gisele’s getting tired of it too because she takes his hand in hers and finishes it up for him. “He’s a rising star at the firm. He’s hoping to make partner about the same time as me.” She smiles at him as she nods.
“Right.” He chuckles as he fucks around with his stupid tie again.
“Makes me glad I’m not a lawyer.” I snort.
Gisele isn’t having it. “Oh, right. So, working as a cashier is better than practicing law?”
I shrug. “Pretty much if what he said”—I point to William, but I don’t look at him—“is any indication.”
“Bull crap,” snaps my sister.
Bull crap? What is she, ten? “Mom, can we eat before it gets cold?”
“Of course,” Gisele scoffs. “It’s all about the food for you, isn’t it?”
“Now, Gisele,” my mom finally speaks. “She’s going through some things. It’s normal to gain weight when you’re stressed.”
“If that’s the case, she’s been”—she uses air quotes for this—“‘going through some things’ her entire life.”
“Gisele, not now.” Oh, wow. My dad has spoken.
“But, Daddy…,” she whines.
Dad ignores her and claps. Turning to my mom, he snaps, “Let’s eat, Pamela.”
My mom does as he requests and begins to lift the lids on all the food. She makes the same thing every year, but it’s always delicious, so I don’t care if it’s the same. There’s egg casserole that she makes with egg (obviously), cheese, ham, and a crust of hash browns. Then, there’s a side of bacon because that’s what Dad likes, an apple coffee cake, and a new addition… mini waffles from the tiny waffle maker I bought her last year for Christmas. A cornerstone to the menu are her scratch biscuits, another signature dish for Mom. Those are buttery and flaky. I hope to pocket a couple of them so I can eat them downstairs later. Of course there’s a carafe of coffee, a pitcher of both orange and apple juice, and milk if you’re into that kind of thing.
I’m about to reach for a biscuit when Mom asks William, “Would you like to say grace, William?”
“Oh.” His face heats to a deep shade of red. It’s awesome. “Sure.”
We lower our heads and listen. “Dear baby Jesus.”
I start to snicker because, huh?Baby Jesus?
“Stop, Josephine,” my mom snaps. “Let him finish.”
“I don’t pray all that often, Mrs. Foster.”
“No worries.” I finally speak to him. “We never pray either. Mom’s just fucking with you.”
Then, all at once, Gisele says, “Mom!” as Mom says, “Josephine!”
I snicker again and reach for a biscuit. “Let’s eat.” I want this shit show to end.
Chapter Four
“I thinkJosephine should do the dishes. She’s not a guest now that she’s a bloodsucking leach.” Gisele snickers. “I mean, living in your basement.”
“Fine,” I groan, getting up from the table. I’m not groaning about the dishes; I’m groaning because I ate too much. Three biscuits and some of everything else and I feel like I might explode like a tick on a dog’s back. Good thing I’ve got on stretchy pants.
