“I don’t think dogs are supposed to eat garlic bread, Lyla,” my father said, eyebrows raised as Mom waved him off.
“He’ll survive. I caught him eating a tampon last week.”
Dad, Tommy, and Will all shuddered, as Hazel giggled obliviously and took a large bite of her Nutella sandwich. Ever since Will had told her Nutella is made from hazelnuts, she had refused to eat anything else. It had also earned her the nickname.
“I showed a monster of a house over by Publix today,” Mom said, changing the subject. “The thing had eight bedrooms.” She looked smug.
“Eight bedrooms?” Dad asked in disbelief, cracking a can of Diet Coke. “Who in god’s name needs eight bedrooms?”
Mom shrugged. “They’ve got a shitload—” She caught herself mid- sentence, her eyes flashing to Hazel. “Ton,” she corrected herself, “of kids …”
“Says the woman with four,” my dad joked.
Mom kept going, ignoring him. “If I sell this house, you are all going to haveverynice birthdays this year.”
It was evident from the look on her face that she knew she would sell it. Our mother had made a name for herself here. Loxahatchee was her market, her community. All the other nearby Realtors lived in Royal Palm Beach or Wellington, the next towns over. She was a local.
There were few things my mother cared about as much as her reputation as a Realtor. She’d spent her entire career making sure that she, and the rest of us by extension, were represented well here.
“Speaking of birthdays,” Will added, “the Hopelys went looking for a VW Beetle for Victoria yesterday.”
Now this was interesting. I turned toward him. “Did they decide on a color?”
Will shook his head. “Not a chance. You’ll tell Victoria and ruin the surprise, and Alex will kill me.”
“How much of a surprise can it be?” Mom asked. “She already knows she’s getting one. They all do for their birthdays.”
I could hear the snark in her voice, her dislike for the Hopelys amplified by the red wine.
“Lyla!” my father teased.
“What? It’s a bad financial decision. Those girls are close enough in age to share cars between them. There is no reason that one family needs five cars. It’s ridiculous,” Mom said.
“Aren’t they rich?” Tommy asked.
“Don’t be crass,” Mom told him, taking a sip of wine. “But no. I sold them that house. I know what Gary and Deborah make. They do well, but notthatwell.” She swirled the wine in her glass knowingly. “It’s got to all be credit cards. Or they’re spoiling the girls instead of saving for retirement. Either way, it isn’t a good strategy.”
People liked my mother. She got along with everyone, but something about the Hopelys had always bothered her. She never liked them and never did a good job of hiding it.I like them just fine, that’s what she always said. She had her reasons: their politics, their parenting, the fact that they didn’t like that she made more money than my father. My dad was a hard worker, an accountant for a local pest control company, but we all knew my mother was the breadwinner. We never missed the look Mrs. Hopely would give Mom whenever she talked about work.
“All I’m saying,” Mom said, “is nothing good comes from spoiling your children.”
“More Nutella!” Hazel shouted from the end of the table, breaking the tension. The crusts of her mangled sandwich were clutched in her hand. The small portion of pasta on her plate was completely untouched.
“What was that about spoiling your children?” my father asked her, amused.
My mom sighed. “Oh, hush.”
The closest mall to Loxahatchee was a twenty-minute drive into the town over. A couple of times a month, Cassandra and I would beg our parents to drop usoff there. We’d usually see people we knew or cute guys from the neighboring schools in Wellington. We’d wander the shops until we got bored, and then get Chick-Fil-A.
But today, Alex was driving us to the mall. Her bright yellow Beetle was blaring Rihanna when I got to their driveway. Cassandra and I were relegated to the back seat, while Victoria, of course, sat up front with Alex. I wasn’t sure why she had opted to sit closest to Alex when they were clearly in a fight. Normally, the two of them didn’t stop talking whenever we went anywhere, gossiping conspiratorially or ranting about whatever reality TV show they’d watched the night before, but they barely spoke to each other on the entire drive over.
“What’s going on with them?” I whispered to Cass, as Victoria threw Alex a nasty look.
Cassandra’s eyes were lined with clumpy black mascara. “Who knows,” she replied. “Something about Victoria being embarrassed by something Alex said in front of Sam’s new boyfriend.”
“Isaac, right?” I hadn’t met Samantha’s newest boyfriend yet, but she had spent all of her winter break going on and on about him. They’d met at the University of Miami, where Sam went to college. He was an out-of-state student staying with the Hopelys this week before going back up to Massachusetts for the summer. “What’s he like?”
Cassandra shrugged, her face unchanging. “Fine, I guess.”
