Yeesh.
“And she makes lemon meringue pie, from scratch, even the crust. Her crusts are light and flaky. You’ve never tasted anything so good,” Trixie said.
“Always been a good cook. She’s got the gift,” Mom put in.
I wondered how rude it would be if I got up and started walking, and didn’t stop until I hit Vancouver.
“She’s a great kid,” Trixie went on, winking at me.
“Couldn’t have asked for better. Got great grades, never got into trouble. Even when her Dad left, Jet kicked in…
took care of everyone,” Mom said.
I froze.
This particular conversation was not going to happen, not now, not ever.
“Mom…” I warned, giving her a kil ing glance.
“What? You did.” Mom looked at Eddie, “She was fourteen, got herself a job to help me with grocery money…”
“Mom…” I repeated, a lot louder this time.
“What?” Mom said, a lot louder too, “You did. I’m not embarrassed to admit I fel apart when your Dad left.
Especial y not considering I’d raised a daughter who kept the family together.” She turned to Eddie and smiled her dazzling majorette smile, “I take ful credit.” I leaned into her, what I thought was threateningly.
“Stop talking,” I demanded, stil in the throes of the Bitch Strategy.
I guess I wasn’t very threatening.
“You should be proud of yourself,” Mom said to me, using her “don’t argue with your mother” voice I ignored The Voice.
“Why? Anyone would do it,” I returned.
“Lottie didn’t,” Trixie pointed out.
This was true; Lottie didn’t, mainly because I didn’t want her to. I wanted her to be able to be a kid and that’s what she was.
“Let’s change the subject,” I suggested.
“Eddie,” Ada said, forging into the breach, “what do you think of Jet’s new hair-do? Isn’t it pretty?” I gave up trying to eat and leaned back in my seat.
“Somebody, please kil me,” I asked the ceiling.
Eddie’s hand curled around my neck and his thumb stroked me there.
Electricity shot from my neck, straight to my ni**les.
Bad idea, leaning back in my seat. I forgot about Eddie’s arm.
I leaned forward immediately.
“What’s for dessert?” Trixie asked, her eyes dancing.
She’d caught the hand action. “I hope it’s lemon meringue pie.”
I could have shot myself.