Page 88 of Stay for Me
“Melanie!” I hiss.
“My mother is amazing at fixing things, but not hanging them.”
I groan. “Children were put on this earth to annoy adults.”
“Dad used to make fun of her because sometimes, in the middle of the night, something would just . . . fall. It was always something she hung.”
“And just for that, now I am going to hang the mirror.”
Jacob chuckles. “So, there’s something you’re not great at?”
“I’m not great at a lot of things.”
He leans in close. “Thankfully, cooking isn’t one of the things you suck at.”
I roll my eyes. “Keep it up and Magnolia will go a rung higher than you in the friendship category.”
“You wound me.” His hands cover his heart as he says it.
“And now I’m doubting your acting skills.”
Melanie grabs my arm. “Mom, please let Jacob hang it for me. I promise I won’t make fun of your clothes or your hanging ability again.”
That’s a lie. Just today she made a comment about my shoes and asked if I borrowed them from my mother-in-law. She said they were frumpy and I should try to wear heels more because they made my legs look leaner. I didn’t realize my legs looked fat. Thanks to my daughter, I stood in front of the mirror for ten minutes raising up on my toes.
“If Jacob really wants to do it.”
He puffs his chest out. “Of course, I want a chance to show off my manly skills.”
“You’re hanging a mirror,” I deadpan.
“Which is something you apparently can’t do.”
Mel giggles. “Come on, Jacob, I’ll show you where the tools Grandpa keeps here are.”
The two of them head off, and I go into the kitchen to inspect what my kids actually did to the dishes. As I suspected, they put the four plates and forks into the dishwasher. That’s it.
There are still various bowls and cookware on the counter and stove, and there is a dusting of flour all around the room. I love making this dish, but I absolutely hate cleaning up after it.
I make my sauce two days before I plan to make the lasagna, and the day before, I make my own noodles, which is a process. Then assembly happens, and it’s chaos in the kitchen.
As I’m walking around, I hear my phone buzz, and there is Cybil’s face on the screen. I could ignore her, which is what I want to do, but she’ll just call again. If I don’t pick up, she’ll call Melanie or Sebastian. The fact that I would send her to voice mail is enough to make her think I’m hiding something. So, it’s time to be quick.
“Hey, Cyb.”
“Hey, you. What are you up to?” She pulls her blonde hair to the side as she takes a sip of her wine.
“Nothing. Just getting ready to clean up from dinner.”
“Daddy always said having kids means less mess for adults.”
Normally, I’d point out that, once again, that makes no sense because having kids definitely doesn’t mean less mess of any kind . . . ever, but it will launch into something much longer than I care for.
“I only have a few minutes, what’s up?”
“Why the rush, sugar?”
Because I have Jacob Arrowood in my house, and I don’t want you to know.
