Page 93 of Can't Kiss the Chef

“Well what if we came to see you?”

Mom’s cheery voice puts a pep in my step.

“You guys came,” I say in disbelief.

“I wanted to see where you lived,” my dad says. “And I told you I would come.”

The expectations I had for the weekend were low. That’s just the reality when your dad just stops showing up.

“Well I’m happy you guys are here. Do you want to go in and get a drink?”

Mia is glued to my mom’s side the moment we get in the house. After spending the summer in Brooklyn I’m convinced she thinks my mom is the one that rescued her from a life on the streets. Kids these days are just so ungrateful.

“Mom, there is a pitcher of margaritas on the bar in the living room,” I pause, realizing I don’t know what my dad likes to drink.

“I’ll take any beer you have,” he says quickly, his regret clear in his eyes.

I grab two craft beers from a brewery that opened up in town not too long ago.

“These are really good. I have more hidden in the back of the fridge if you want another.”

It’s not until I hand him the beer that I realize he has my sweater on. Then Mom comes and snuggles into his side wearing one.

“You guys couldn’t think of a more original costume?”

“Why bother picking through leftover costumes when we could dress as the birthday boy.”

My mom has always made a big deal out of my birthday. Something about only having one child means every celebration is somehow more important.

“I finally got the fucking wig on straight.”

Lola freezes at the top of the stairs. She looks fantastic in her skimpy Daphne custom. I just want to take her back to my room and forget about this party.

“Oh don’t worry sweetheart, I’m a nurse in New York City. I hear worse than that every shift.”

Lola pads her way down the stairs before making her way to the kitchen.

“Well in that case I think we should all take a shot. It’s amazing that both of you are here.”

She locks eyes with my dad.

“Just one, I’m driving tonight.”

“That means you’re drinking with me tonight Ms. Carter.”

My parents never married so my mom and I have different last names.

“I guess so.”

The amber liquid burns on its way down and warms me right.

“Taking shots doesn’t get better with age,” My dad informs us.

“Well that sucks,” I say.

Giggles fill the room. Lola is pulling my Mom to the couch looking like they have been best friends forever.

“I don’t know if that’s a good thing or not.”

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