Page 105 of The ABCs of You & Me

“Does she work here?”

“She came to help for the weekend. She’s a friend from up in Marmot Point.”

“That’s where Teddy and Nellie are,” I tell Foster.

“Ah.” He nods in understanding.

“She’s in school down this way but comes here every now and again to get away from the hustle and bustle of the city.”

My dad scoffs. “That university town is hardly a city, but I suppose it’s a lot more peaceful here.”

“Peace is always wel?—”

“Denver, you made it!” my dad shouts across as a friend of his walks in.

“So much for peace,” I whisper to Foster, grabbing his hand and leading the way to the massive barbecue pit that’s set up outside the open end of the tent.

“My god, what isn’t here?” Foster says in wonder.

“Is your dad a big barbecue aficionado?”

“I mean, he likes it, but this has my uncle written all over it. He probably knows a guy or something.”

He’s mid reach for a chicken thigh when I hear the voice that I’ve learned to despise in the short time I’ve known it. “I knew he wouldn’t go for the real meat.”

Before anyone can say anything, I whirl around. “Oh, is that the fake chicken I’ve heard so much about?”

Phil looks at me, mouth slightly agape, a dumb look on his face. “No,” he finally says indignantly.

“Then what precisely makes it ‘not real meat’?”

“You know, it’s the healthier option.”

“Phil, I am a social worker and I hear a shitload of dumb stuff, but that may be the dumbest thing I’ve heard yet.”

He stands there looking dumbstruck, and I enjoy it for about half a second before I see the look of shock on Foster’s face. I can’t decipher whether it’s a good look or not and I automatically assume it’s bad.

I laugh nervously. “Anyway, I’m gonna…” I reach for a set of tongs and put chicken on my own plate before turning and practically running to the table.

“What’s got you spooked?” Dad asks when I sit down.

“Hmm? Oh, nothing,” I stammer before realizing Cass and who I’m guessing is Florence are sitting at the table. “You must be Florence?” I stand and extend my hand.

She greets me shyly, her face half hidden behind a curtain of wavy brown hair.

“The flowers look great,” I compliment, gesturing toward the arrangement at the center of the table.

“Thanks,” she replies, sitting back down. “The university has an excessive amount of flowers right now so I got lucky.”

“What are you there for?”

“Plant science.”

“What does a plant scientist do?” Foster’s grandmother asks, leaning on her elbows, giving Florence her full attention.

“I’m not sure yet. I’m specifically studying plant activity in harsh climates. Areas that seem a bit more inhospitable.” She explains, lighting up as she goes on to tell us how much she’s looking forward to an upcoming research trip opportunity on the east coast.

“Where’s Foster?” Cass asks, turning in her seat to look around when her grandmother starts asking Florence more specific questions.

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