The only person who’s able to get away with calling me Nicky is Shirley Clementine, and that’s only because she saved me from myself.
“I gave you birth; I’ll call you whatever I want,” Mom blusters, all the while shooting daggers at me with her eyes.
“Why are you so grumpy today?” Jackie asks, placing a pan of breadsticks on a hot pad in the center of the kitchen island and blowing a wayward piece of her brown hair from her face.
There’s quite a spread accumulating. Not that I’m surprised. These two don’t do anything in half measures.
“Nicholas?” Jackie presses, and I look up, waiting for her to continue. When it’s clear she has nothing new to say, it occurs to me thatI’mthe supposed grump.
“I’m the grump?” I ask, pointing a finger at my chest.
Mom rolls her eyes. “Obviously.”
“I’m not grumpy,” I say, instantly wincing at the tone of my voice.
Even to my own ears, I sound exactly that.
I slump back into the barstool that’s less than comfy. “You really need to spring for more comfortable chairs, Jack.”
“See. Grumpy,” she says to my mom, who bobs her head in agreement.
“I’m just tired. It’s been a really long month with Richard’s case and now the new one.”
Neither one of them comments. With Jackie’s husband being in law enforcement and my father retired FBI, they’re both more than familiar with the need for confidentiality.
Jackie purses her lips and lowers her head, rocking back and forth on her feet.
“I’m glad to hear there isn’t trouble in paradise. When you didn’t ask to bring Alyssa, I was afraid that it was over before it got started.”
I grimace, wanting to throttle my sister and her big mouth. She’s managed to open an entire can of worms, and she knows damn well what she’s done. The smirk she tries to hide gives her away.
Mom’s white-haired head whips toward me, and I shoot Jackie a glare that promises revenge in some capacity.
“Who’s Alyssa? Are you in love?” she asks, teeth bared in a smile that tells me she’s already planning a wedding in her head.
The palm of my hand slaps against my forehead as I groan. “Mom…why do you always jump straight to love?”
She leans forward, barely registering that she’s got too loose a grip on Zoey. “Well…if you’re dating someone…”
“Would you hold her tighter?” I snap, pointing toward Zoey, whose little head, half-cloaked by a headpiece, complete with an obnoxious bow, is bobbling all over the place.
She waves me off, rolling her hazel eyes. “I’m more than capable of taking care of a baby, Nicholas. I raised you two perfectly well.”
“Debatable,” I say, popping an almond into my mouth.
“I’m going to try to pretend you didn’t say that,” she singsongs, placing a kiss into Zoey’s thick, dark curls.
“I’m going to pretend you aren’t trying to marry me off to someone you’ve not even met,” I say, voice pitching in exasperation.
“Stop avoiding my question. Are you or are you not dating someone?”
I groan. “It’s new.”
“Hallelujah,” she bellows. “Praise Jesus.”
I make a face. “When was the last time you were in a church, Ma?”
She tsks at me. “I attend worship in my head every day.”
