back—sundae-less—over her rudeness and orneriness.
She knew she could take the heat from his anger, though, and she could live
without the hot fudge—even never have another sundae again while she was
under his roof, like he asserted. What she couldn’t live with was stepping foot
inside that shop… a local hangout… on a Saturday night… dateless (no surprise)…
with her father… wearing no makeup… with zits lighting up her face like
a Christmas tree (considering the holidays were three months past at that point,
it wasn’t a festive statement—it was just plain gross). To this day she still
held firm that no matter how much of a bitch she’d been to be around, being her was at least a thousand times worse.
“Well, I hope you didn’t have your heart set on French
toast because I couldn’t just sit here and stare at your plate any longer, so I
ate your breakfast too,” he chuckled.
“Oh, William!” her mother exclaimed, coming out of the
laundry room and grabbing a new dishtowel from the drawer to whip at him
lightly.
“You should know better by now than to leave French
toast unattended in this house,” he said sadly. “I am but a man.”
“That you are. A growing man,” Elizabeth
cautioned, eyeing his burgeoning belly. Something new of late, Catherine noted.
“Oh this ….I call this a sign of how
good you are to me,” he said.
“Don’t patronize me, William.” She busied herself
cracking a couple more eggs and starting up a new batch.
“Don’t go to any trouble, Mom, I’m not really that
hungry anyway.”
“No trouble. You need to eat something, dear. What
with that awful hangover you’ve got, you should really get some food and drink
in you.”
Catherine gulped. She hadn’t realized that her mother recognized
what was going on. But then her mother always seemed to know everything. Maybe
she was psychic. Maybe I should have her read my palm or tell my fortune. Maybe she’s known all the answers all along… in which case I really should
have spent more time listening to her all these years. In fact, maybe that
was why she’d gotten Minks for her thirteenth birthday. Perhaps he was a
clue to my future… or the nest egg on which to build my old-maid cat colony of
which I will one day become queen. Unfortunately Minks died several years
back, a faithful friend—she could use one right about now.
“So,” her father said, jiggling his newspaper as he folded
it sloppily and set it down. “When are you leaving?”
“Can’t stand the sight of me?” Catherine joked, poking
out her boo-boo lip that had earned her many things from her daddy over the
years.
“You said your flight was canceled last night. When
will you be able to fly out?”
“I—”
But her mother cut in quickly, her face pale, “She’s
not going to be flying out, William.” She had finished dipping the bread and
loading the griddle, and now stood at the sink drying her hands on her fresh
dishtowel. “Catherine and Fynn broke up,” she said evenly, coming over to the
table to refold the newspaper properly.
“What?” her father asked, total shock passing over his
face.
Her parents had never shown any real interest in her
relationships, at least not since her high school squeeze, Daniel, who they
feared she might go too far with (entirely warranted seeing as how they had
gone as far as possible on the family room couch right underneath the master
bedroom while her parents slept). Over the past sixteen years of dating and notably
less often sleeping with men, they’d shown no familial concern for her
extramarital relationships at all. And they hardly knew Fynn. Sure they met him
that time in New York when they’d first started dating; when she brought him to
dinner as a human shield to protect her from the big family announcement. And
of course he had charmed them completely with stories of their daughter’s zany
adventures in Nekoyah, Minnesota. He was captivating. But since then he
had come to
She knew she could take the heat from his anger, though, and she could live
without the hot fudge—even never have another sundae again while she was
under his roof, like he asserted. What she couldn’t live with was stepping foot
inside that shop… a local hangout… on a Saturday night… dateless (no surprise)…
with her father… wearing no makeup… with zits lighting up her face like
a Christmas tree (considering the holidays were three months past at that point,
it wasn’t a festive statement—it was just plain gross). To this day she still
held firm that no matter how much of a bitch she’d been to be around, being her was at least a thousand times worse.
“Well, I hope you didn’t have your heart set on French
toast because I couldn’t just sit here and stare at your plate any longer, so I
ate your breakfast too,” he chuckled.
“Oh, William!” her mother exclaimed, coming out of the
laundry room and grabbing a new dishtowel from the drawer to whip at him
lightly.
“You should know better by now than to leave French
toast unattended in this house,” he said sadly. “I am but a man.”
“That you are. A growing man,” Elizabeth
cautioned, eyeing his burgeoning belly. Something new of late, Catherine noted.
“Oh this ….I call this a sign of how
good you are to me,” he said.
“Don’t patronize me, William.” She busied herself
cracking a couple more eggs and starting up a new batch.
“Don’t go to any trouble, Mom, I’m not really that
hungry anyway.”
“No trouble. You need to eat something, dear. What
with that awful hangover you’ve got, you should really get some food and drink
in you.”
Catherine gulped. She hadn’t realized that her mother recognized
what was going on. But then her mother always seemed to know everything. Maybe
she was psychic. Maybe I should have her read my palm or tell my fortune. Maybe she’s known all the answers all along… in which case I really should
have spent more time listening to her all these years. In fact, maybe that
was why she’d gotten Minks for her thirteenth birthday. Perhaps he was a
clue to my future… or the nest egg on which to build my old-maid cat colony of
which I will one day become queen. Unfortunately Minks died several years
back, a faithful friend—she could use one right about now.
“So,” her father said, jiggling his newspaper as he folded
it sloppily and set it down. “When are you leaving?”
“Can’t stand the sight of me?” Catherine joked, poking
out her boo-boo lip that had earned her many things from her daddy over the
years.
“You said your flight was canceled last night. When
will you be able to fly out?”
“I—”
But her mother cut in quickly, her face pale, “She’s
not going to be flying out, William.” She had finished dipping the bread and
loading the griddle, and now stood at the sink drying her hands on her fresh
dishtowel. “Catherine and Fynn broke up,” she said evenly, coming over to the
table to refold the newspaper properly.
“What?” her father asked, total shock passing over his
face.
Her parents had never shown any real interest in her
relationships, at least not since her high school squeeze, Daniel, who they
feared she might go too far with (entirely warranted seeing as how they had
gone as far as possible on the family room couch right underneath the master
bedroom while her parents slept). Over the past sixteen years of dating and notably
less often sleeping with men, they’d shown no familial concern for her
extramarital relationships at all. And they hardly knew Fynn. Sure they met him
that time in New York when they’d first started dating; when she brought him to
dinner as a human shield to protect her from the big family announcement. And
of course he had charmed them completely with stories of their daughter’s zany
adventures in Nekoyah, Minnesota. He was captivating. But since then he
had come to
Similar Books
