Meanwhile, Mary Lou didn’t like being held in place by me, but tough shit. She had started this little tirade and I wasn’t letting her go until she calmed down. Luckily, my words were finally sinking in.
“Tammy can read my mind?”
“Yes,” I said.
Mary Lou looked from me to my daughter. Then, for some damn reason, my goofball sister actually smiled. “Really?”
“Yes, really,” I said. “And this makes you happy, why?”
“Because I don’t feel left out now! I feel, you know, like part of the gang.”
“Of course you’re part of the gang, Mary Lou, and I think you’ve had enough wine for tonight.”
“But I just got started...”
“You’ve had a rough day,” I said, and began steering her out of the kitchen and into the living room. “Just sit down and relax. We’ll take it from here.”
She called back over her shoulder. “What am I thinking now, Tammy?”
“Aunt Louie!” giggled Tammy.
I didn’t have to be a mind reader to know where this was going. “Let me guess,” I said, steering her toward the couch. “Damon.”
They both giggled as I deposited my sister in front of the TV. Once back in the kitchen, I again didn’t need to be a mind reader to know that my daughter was acting a little strange. I needed only to be a mother. I snatched her “grape juice” out of her hand and sniffed it.
Uh-oh.
Chapter Nine
It was after The Vampire Diaries.
Truth was, I didn’t much enjoy the show this week. Sure, Damon looked sexy. Even Stefan had his moments. The others in the cast were electrifying and gory and funny. The plotline was convoluted but ingenious, and all in all, a great addition to the series.
Except, of course, I was having trouble concentrating on it.
Now with my sister mostly sober and gone home, and still giddy that she wasn’t being left out of the cool group, I sat with my daughter in her bedroom.
Anthony had gone home with my sister, as well. I didn’t want him to overhear us. Turned out, his hearing was getting better and better, too. Too good for my comfort. The kid was turning into Captain America.
Or Captain Skidmarks.
“That’s funny, Mom.”
“Don’t try to get on my good side,” I said. “And yes, that was kind of funny.”
She giggled. I was fairly certain the alcohol hadn’t worn off yet. It had, after all, only been an hour or so. “What have I told you about reading my thoughts?”
“I’m not supposed to. But sometimes, I can’t help it.”
I knew the feeling. I said, “I know you can’t help it, honey. And sometimes, I can’t help it either. But I want you to do your best to not listen in on adult conversations.”
“I’m sorry.”
“And don’t listen in on your brother’s thoughts, either.”
“Gross. I learned my lesson about him, Mommy. Do you know that sometimes all he thinks about, for like ten straight minutes, is boobies?”
My son, of course, was eleven going on an apparently early puberty. I said, “I could have gone my whole life without knowing that.”