Love Handles by Gretchen Galway Page A

it good?”
    “Don’t know yet.” She took a bite and couldn’t resist smiling. “It is. You sure you can’t—”
    His face stretched longer. “No, I promised. That’s what you get for marrying somebody from Santa Monica.”
    And somebody a third his age, she wanted to add. “So, you heard about my grandfather.”
    “Of course I heard about him. Both your brother and sister called me to complain about it as soon as they heard.” He pierced his burrito with a plastic knife and began to saw. “You’re still sulking about Tia.”
    She stopped chewing. “I’m what?”
    “You never liked her. I’m supposed to say, that’s your prerogative, give agency to your pain or some bullshit, but I won’t. She’s part of the family now, so get over it.”
    Bev put down the taco. Anderson had been married three times. Twice in the past ten years, both to women in their early twenties. His second wife had lasted three years, the marriage ending when she got pregnant by an anesthesiologist from Las Vegas. Tia, his new wife, already had two children of her own from two previous relationships, neither of their fathers lasting more than the gestation period, and loved to talk about when she and Anderson would finally have children of “their own.”
    Given her father’s terrible taste in women, Bev was understandably prejudiced against anyone he liked. But this time, her reluctance to talk to him had nothing to do about his love life. “I didn’t get back to you because I didn’t want to argue.”
    “I never argue.”
    She snorted. “I knew what you would say, and I’d already made my decision. But now I’m not so sure.”
    He stuck the fork in his mouth. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
    “About the company. Taking the money instead of moving up there.”
    “You think I’d want you to move to San Francisco?” He stared at her, his cheeks bulging with burrito. “You mean, to work in the fashion business?”
    She hesitated. “You never did think much of my chosen career—”
    “Career? Oh, you mean the little kid thing?”
    “See?” She tried to roll her taco back together. “You’ve always wanted me to go corporate. Devote myself to making money.”
    “Nothing wrong with making a living,” he said. “Which is why you shouldn’t try to rescue a struggling business you know nothing about.”
    She gave up on the taco and put her hands in her lap. “I thought you’d pressure me to give it a shot.”
    “Hardly. But that doesn’t mean you’re stuck being an underpaid babysitter for the rest of your life. I don’t think you like kids as much as you think you do,” he said. “At least, not other people’s kids. Maybe you’ll change your mind when you have kids of your own, I don’t know. How the fuck—excuse me—how the hell would I know. I’m not a goddamn shrink.”
    His face always got red when he was upset, which was much of the time, one of the reason’s Bev avoided him. Nothing she said seemed to prevent an argument. Her thoughts scrambled back over his words. “You don’t think I could do it.”
    “Don’t tell me you’re considering it?” He wiped a stream of salsa off his chin. “Listen, Bev, Ed Roche was one class-A manipulative jerk. Pardon me speaking ill of the dead, but he was. If he left his company to you, it wasn’t for anyone’s benefit but his own. He had no reason to benefit you in particular, so you can be sure it’s something you’d be better off without.”
    She lifted her iced tea. “Why wouldn’t he have any reason to benefit me in particular?” She tried not to be offended to hear him say nearly the exact same thing she’d told Liam.
    He looked at her in surprise. “You think he got sentimental in his old age.” He gave a dismissive snort and lifted his drink. “You know what he did the day your brother was born? His first grandchild?”
    She shook her head.
    “Nothing,” he said. “Nothing at all.”
    “Look, Dad, I’m not saying