Page 18 of Smolder

The clanging of pots in the kitchen had me jumping up from the sofa, where I had been reading a book for one of my classes.

“What are you doing in there, Grams?” I called as I headed to the kitchen.

“Oh, just making a chicken potpie. You know how much my Vinson loves that. Thought he might want something nice and warm when he gets home from work.”

I opened my mouth to tell her that my father hadn’t worked in years, but I stopped myself. She was living in the past again, and maybe that was just easier for her.

The text that lit up my screen asked:

First name or middle?

I had long since stopped getting embarrassed by the name my mother had given me. It was part of my story.

I looked back at Grams as she pulled out the Crock-Pot that had been behind the pots.

“We don’t have the ingredients for chicken potpie right now. Why don’t I go run and get us something to eat?” I told her, walking over to take her arm and help her straighten back up before she fell.

“I was sure I’d gone grocery shopping just yesterday,” she replied with a frown.

Grams hadn’t been grocery shopping since my senior year of high school. I did the shopping and tried not to spend money on meals for dinner. That was an expense I couldn’t add to the others weighing on me. Having connections at a few places where I could get their leftover food at closing time helped keep hot meals on the table. Otherwise, we’d be eating grilled cheese and canned tomato soup every night.

“You were planning on it, but never made it,” I lied, leading her back to the living room. “Wheel of Fortuneis about to come on, and you can’t miss that,” I reminded her.

Her eyes lit up. “Oh, I almost forgot!”

She hurried up her shuffling until we reached her green chair. I covered up her legs with the afghan she had once made, then turned on the television.

“Who is that man? Where is Pat?” she asked, looking almost frantic.

I had explained this to her almost every night since Ryan Seacrest had taken over Pat Sajak’s place on the show, but rarely did she remember.

Amory’s text read:

It can’t be that bad.

I smirked. He had no idea.

I glanced back up at Grams. “Pat retired, Grams. That is Ryan Seacrest. He’s the new host.”

She scowled. “Well, that’s a shame. Pat was still young. Why would he do that?”

I knew better than to get into this with her. She refused to believe the man was almost eighty now because she didn’t realize she was eighty-two.

Crown Royal. I was conceived after my father and the woman who gave birth to me got drunk at a bar. She was drinking Crown Royal that night and said that was the only reason she was careless enough to have sex without protection. So, when I was born, she decided that it should be my name. Think it can’t be that bad now?

I hit Send, then glanced back up to see Grams still scowling at the television.

You’re serious.

I stifled a laugh.

Why would I make something like that up? Admitting it is bad enough.

It’s unique, but then so are you. What are you doing tonight?

I looked over at my book that I had to read in order to finish two papers for students.

Working.

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