Amy blinked. “Umm…well that, but I was thinking more along the lines of exploring this good thing.”
“Ah.” He took a minute to pull his foot from his mouth. “Where there is a will, there is a way.” Which sounded like he’d just come from the locker room of a PGA tournament and was reading a motivational poster on the way out to the course.
“Are you always so optimistic?”
“Pretty much never,” he said, and smiled a little. “But, in my defense, this is not my mother we are talking about. If it was my mother, my attitude would be different, believe me.”
She glanced down.
“Don’t let them get you down,” he said. “I know this is a huge kick in the pants. But I had fun last night—didn’t you?”
“No!” she insisted. She groaned. “Okay, maybe a little.”
He smiled.
“But they are killing my vibe. And get this…” She paused, glancing over her shoulder at the house, like she suspected one of them was creeping up on her. “Apparently, my mom and dad are havingissues!” She cast her arms out, as if this was the most stunning news he could imagine.
He rubbed his chin. “I might have heard something about that. What kind of issues?”
“Bigissues. It has me a little worried.”
“What, like…divorce?”
“Maybe! I don’t know, whatever is going on sounds like a complete disaster, and I am furious that they are bringing this to me now, during these two weeks. Dad keeps texting and calling Mom, and Mom won’t respond, so Dad texts me, and on top of that, my kids are still fighting about a missing Minecraft world and my ex and my brother are not helpingat all.” She huffed with exasperation.
Harrison touched a strand of her hair. “You sound like you need a vacation. Somewhere near a lake.”
Amusement sparked in her eyes. “Funny.”
His head was filled with kissing her, so of course the door would slide open and Amy’s mom would pop her head out. “There you are! Good morning, sweetheart! Did you sleep well?”
“Yes, Mother.”
“We made cinnamon rolls.”
“Imade cinnamon rolls,” June shouted from somewhere inside.
“Okay, thanks, Mom!” Amy waved her back inside.
Barb’s head dutifully disappeared, and the sliding-glass door shut. Harrison glanced at Amy from the corner of his eye. “You have every right to be mad. I just hope you’re not so mad that we’re going to pass on cinnamon rolls. We’re not…are we?”
“Harrison!” She glared at him with exasperation. “I’m not a monster. Of course we’re not passing on cinnamon rolls.”
He grinned. He held out his hand. “Shall we drown our sorrows in sugar?”
“Is there any other way?” She slipped her hand into his, letting him tug her up the steps to the main deck and the sliding-glass door.
18
The cinnamon rolls were excellent. As far as Amy was concerned, baking was the Bossy Posse’s only saving grace.
She’d only made it through half of one as Harrison started his second. He was talking, laughing with the Posse, and seemingly truly enjoying the company of these septuagenarian women. Amazing. It wasn’t that Amy didn’t enjoy them, because she did. But in certain settings and for shorter periods of time. Not like this, not after they’d invaded her creative space. Her mother especially, who was a giant symptom of the problem in Amy’s life: that her entire family took her for granted. She wondered why she hadn’t taken it more seriously before now.
And then Melissa had the nerve to suggest that Amy put up her brush and join them in the pool for the day. “Come on, one day can’t set you back that far. It’s only three paintings, right? Didn’t you tell me only three, Barb?”
Only three.It was amazing to Amy how people with no experience in something could offer an opinion on how much work it required. “Yes, only three paintings,” Amy said, trying gamely not to sound annoyed. “But I’d like them to be good. So, thank you for the cinnamon rolls, but I’m going back to work now.”
“You have to have a little fun, Amy,” Carol said. “All work and no play and all that.”
