Page 7 of The Usual Family Mayhem

Jackson being Jackson, he kept right on talking at full volume. “I work with companies like yours all the time.”

Since when? “That’s what you do for a living?”

“I deal with corporate assets and regulations. Draft agreements. Work on contracts.” He didn’t sayduhbut he looked like he wanted to. “What did you think I did?”

Boring lawyer shit. Just hearing him describe his job killed off most of my brain cells. “Sat in a room with a bunch of books and read documents.”

“That’s not far off except we use computers these days.” He shrugged. “The point is I researched your job and company. I’m familiar with your responsibilities.”

Was that sweet or overbearing? Hard to tell. “That doesn’t sound stalkerish at all.”

“You’ve been there for a few months. I’m sure you’re getting pressure to produce.”

He seemed to know everything all of a sudden. “What’s with the overhyped interest in my work life?”

He stared at me for a few loaded seconds before shaking his head. “Can I offer you some friendly advice?”

“No.” His advice tended to be more bossy than helpful. No, thank you.

“Whatever you’re planning to do is a mistake.”

“I guess you didn’t hear me say no.”

He kept right on talking. “Enjoy a few days of quality family time. Eat lots of baked goods. Forget about this pitch then go back to DC.”

He sounded a little too excited about the part where I left town. Then there was the bigger problem. “It’s not that easy.”

“See, that’s the thing, Kasey. You make things hard.” His smile came roaring back. “This time, refrain.”

Chapter Four

You make things hard. I continued grumbling about Jackson’s comment all last night and from the second my feet hit the floor this morning. After a short caffeine break I intended to go back to grumbling.

First, breakfast. As usual, Gram beat me downstairs to the kitchen. No matter what time I got up, Gram got up earlier. She had an internal alarm clock that ensured she was the one to make tea and warm the muffins. I loved that about her. I also loved sleeping in. The crisp sheets and soft, but not too soft, mattress made the bed in this house my favorite bed in the world.

Gram stared out the window over the sink and across the backyard. “Why are you scowling?”

My butt barely hit the breakfast bar stool before Gram launched that one. “You’re not even looking at me.”

“I can hear you frowning.”

“That’s not a thing.” Was it? I mean, she did always seem to know what I was about to do or say. She had all kinds of spooky skills.

She turned to face me, showing off her bright pink zip-up robe with the big yellow flowers. The thing was over the top, which was how I knew it was perfect when I bought it for her for Christmas. She sipped tea from her “Cool Grandmother Club” mug, another perfect gift.

The morning was one of the rare times she swapped out her beloved iced sweet tea for something warm. Morning and whenever she poked around in my feelings about something—first boys, now men, my career goals, my worries about paying the rent. Earl Grey was her go-tolet’s have a chathot beverage and had been since I hit middle school.

On a regular day, starting at about eleven, no matter what time of year, hot or cold outside, she reached for sweet tea over ice, served in the same pitcher she’d inherited from her mother. She actually owned many pitchers. She had a group of clear glass carafes of different sizes with glass handles and rounded bottoms. We used those for company.

Her favorite, the family-only one, was a cheap plastic pitcher passed down from generation to generation. It had a simple green flower on the side and matching lid with a push button in the middle. You pressed that to break the seal and take the top off.

One of Gram’s greatest disappointments came the day fifteen-year-old me suggested her favorite iced beverage basically consisted of a bag of sugar with a little bit of black tea mixed in. So, a liquid dessert and not a very good one.

I wasn’t wrong. She liked her tea heavy on the sugar and didn’t appreciate my pointing that out. She’d actually gasped at my audacity then insisted she had to leave the room because sheneeded a minute. We never spoke of my iced sweet tea betrayal again.

“Do you want me to help today?”

Gram eyed me over her mug. “With what?”

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