Page 5 of From Wink to Kink

"Underpaid and over-shelved," I grunt, trying to wriggle free. "Put me down, you overgrown lab puppy."

He sets me down with a grin, and I turn to Lucy, who's watching our sibling antics with fond amusement. "Hey, Lucy. How's life with the human Golden Retriever?"

Lucy laughs, her teeth gleaming. Seriously, does this girl have any flaws? "Oh, you know, lots of belly rubs and games of fetch."

"I heard that," Tyler calls from where he's already made his way to the kitchen, no doubt to ‘test’ whatever Dad's cooking.

I flop onto the couch, kicking off my shoes and trying not to wince. Note to self—maybe breaking in new clogs by wearing them for a full shift wasn't the brightest idea.

"I like your shoes. But hey did you have a rough day?" Lucy asks, her voice gentle.

I consider lying, putting on the same brave face I wore at the library. But something about Lucy's kind eyes makes me want to spill my guts. I adore my future sister-in-law. No two ways about it. In spite of her perfect-ness.

I nod. "You could say that. Let's just say if there was an Olympic event for humiliation, I'd be bringing home the gold."

Lucy opens her mouth to respond, but she's cut off by a roar from the kitchen.

"Dinner's ready!" Dad calls. "Tyler, stop eating the garlic bread!"

We make our way to the dining room, where Dad's setting out his culinary masterpiece, something he makes with scary regularity. He likes it not only because it’s easy but especially because it comes from Mom’s old cookbook.

He only makes things from her cookbook, which is the sweetest thing. But Mom’s been gone nearly twenty years, so his rotation of dishes is getting a little tired. Not to mention dated.

Not that I would ever say anything.

The meatloaf looks like it might have been featured in a World War II ration cookbook, with a side of mashed potatoes that are more lump than mash, and a bowl of peas that were probably stored in the freezer for a year. It's a far cry from the Michelin-star restaurants Tyler probably dines at on the regular, but it still makes both our hearts twinge with nostalgia. When it comes down to it, it doesn’t matter how any of this tastes. We’re together, and that’s what matters.

“Yum, Dad,” I say, and I mean it. There's something comforting about the reliable mediocrity of his cooking.

We settle in, passing dishes and pouring drinks. Tyler immediately launches into a story about his latest game, complete with dramatic reenactments that threaten to knock over the gravy boat.

"So there I was, ten seconds left on the clock," he says, waving a piece of garlic bread like a hockey stick. "Two defenders closing in, the goalie's eyes locked on mine..."

"Let me guess," I interject dryly. "You scored the winning goal, the crowd went wild, and rose petals rained from the sky as you were carried off the ice on the shoulders of your adoring teammates."

Tyler grins, not at all put off by my sarcasm, and Lucy stifles a giggle. "Close. No rose petals, but I did get a pretty sweet Gatorade shower."

"Ah yes, nothing says 'athletic glory' quite like being doused in neon-colored sugar water."

Dad chuckles, shaking his head. "You two never change. Ruby Tuesday, how's the library? Any exciting new books come in?"

I stab a pea with perhaps more force than necessary. "Oh, you know, it's a real page-turner.Will Ruby shelve the romance novels correctly? Can she decipher Mrs. Johnson's illegible hold requests? Will she make it through a shift without getting hit on by creepy dudes looking for 'research materials' in the anatomy section? The suspense is killing me."

A silence falls over the table. I look up to find three pairs of concerned eyes trained on me.

"What?" I ask, suddenly defensive. "Can't a girl make sarcastic comments about her soul-crushing job in peace?"

"Sweetie," Dad says gently, "is everything okay? You seem a little... down."

I open my mouth, ready to brush off their concern with another witty deflection. But as I look around at their worried faces, something in me crumbles. Before I know it, I'm spilling the whole sordid tale—Tod's post-it breakup, the library gossip mill, and a growing sense that I'm wasting my life surrounded by books I will never have time to read.

And then there’s that elusive college degree, the one thing everything else seems to hinge on.

There's a moment of silence as my family digests my outpouring of self-pity. Then Tyler, bless his heart, tries to lighten the mood.

"Look on the bright side, Rubes," he says. "At least you're not dating a dude named Tod anymore. I mean,Tod? That’s a definite douchebag name."

Despite myself, I snort. "Thanks, Ty. I'll remember that the next time I'm tempted by a man in a Star Trek tie."

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