“It’s not cooking. It’s tossing a salad.” I remind her, tickling her sides and making her squeal.
“Stop it!” she scolds, then whines, “Dad, he’s doing it again!” Flashing me a naughty grin, knowing she’s won. I wonder how her husband Brock handles her, and these weekend family lunches. Every Sunday we meet at my dad’s in Lords to congregate. His new wife Chelsea, who’s younger than I am, always helps my sister prepare the meal. While my brother Max corrals the kiddos in the family room, and my Dad watches sports on TV from his recliner in the living room.
“Is the lawyer tormenting you again?” Chelsea chortles, carrying an oversized watermelon in from the back porch.
“Here, let me help.” I retrieve the watermelon from her struggling arms and set it on the counter, with a loud bang.
“Such a man.” She winks at me and my stomach churns with distaste.
My dad and Chelsea are newly married. Dated three months and married for another seven. I’ve had a longer relationship with my running shoes than the ten months they’ve had together. She’s a sweet gal, short pixie blonde hair, nice rack, petite. Still…has nothing on my Lex.
Suddenly claustrophobic in my dad’s small kitchen with the two women. I disembark and head into the family room with Max, my brother, and Tasha’s two rug rats.
Dropping my street clothed self on the brown leather sofa, I lean back and watch as Max plays Harley and Stephen on the Xbox.
“Die! Die, Uncle Max.” Twelve-year-old Harley yells at the screen, playing some sort of first person shooter game. My brother is a video game nerd and my sister’s kids are both nearing their teen years. They seem to have the same brain capacity. My brother isn’t the brightest. He’s not an idiot either, but I can’t imagine he needs to use that much intelligence to be a gas station attendant.
Oh…the joys of spending quality time with my family. When I was married to Melissa, she hated to come here. My sister Tasha hates her and my father hates her even more. He’s not a pleasant man and doesn’t take kindly to many people in his old age.
I wonder what Lex is up to? Maybe I should text her to see. That’ll keep her on her toes. This game I’m playing with her has started to wear heavily on me. I wish I could just come out of hiding now and reveal myself, but I know she wouldn’t accept me. Not yet. That’s why I’ve got a weeks’ worth of tricks up my sleeve. Hope she enjoys the surprises that await her.
Lex
“What do you mean you want me to go on a date with Maxwell?” I snap, pacing the front of my mom’s florist shop. My brown kitten heeled sandals clicking loudly on her wooden floors.
“Oh…come on, Lex, you need to go on a date. Maxwell always looks so lonely when I stop to get gas or coffee. It’ll be good practice. He’s a good looking fella.”
Is my mother insane? Maxwell, the gas attendant? Seriously? He is an attractive man. He’s also a poor dresser and he’s shy. I can’t believe she’d even consider this. One second she’s spouting about not dating and now she’s playing matchmaker. I wish she’d make up her freakin’ mind.
“Mom, no.” I hold my stance, placing my hand on my hip and staring her down. She’s behind her floral station tucking flowers into a sweetheart bouquet order that was just placed. Her hair is atop her head in a firm bun, her pants are jeans and her shirt is a white V-neck tee. My mother is not a fashion conscious woman. Her and Roni, both agree about that. I, on the other hand, have on a yellow knee length flowing dress, with a chocolate thin braided belt and a simple silver heart necklace with dangle earrings. My hair’s tied back in a ponytail.
“Please…” My mom begs, looking up from her station with sappy eyes. I hate when she uses those against me.
My phone beeps in my purse.
Saved by the phone!
Holding up my finger for her to wait a moment, I fish it out of my bag and slide on the screen.
Suit Master: Faith consists in believing when it is beyond the power of reason to believe.
What the…? Ya gotta be kidding me…another cryptic message that can be deciphered a hundred different ways?
I’m not in the mood for this today. I turn my phone off and tuck it back into my purse. Walking around the back of my mom’s counter I drop my purse into the wicker basket where she keeps hers and remove my heels, placing them alongside it.
“Put me to work.” I hip bump her and throw my arm around her shoulder, pulling her into a side hug as she works her floral magic on a daisy sweetheart arrangement. Cutting stems in her steel sink filled with water and tucking the flowers into the wetted floral foam that’s placed into the bottom of the antique silver, elongated pedestal urn.