Page 8 of The Grump I Loathe
“People?” I said, waggling my eyebrows. “Any of the romantic persuasion?”
“You know I’m on a self-love journey.”
I stayed strong and resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Cassie’s insistence that she was currently dating herself could get alittleover the top at times, but hey, it also meant that for once, she had a romantic partner who didn’t set off red flags.
She could be a little reckless when it came to love, and that meant she usually fell head over heels into relationships way too fast withoutstopping to check if the guy she’d fallen for was a decent human being.
“I’m talking about important clients,” she said, holding my arm up like she was going to scrub my armpit with the amethyst.
“Speaking of clients, why don’t you go cleanse their spaces?” She had a degree in interior design and had recently been hired on as an assistant at Studio Wren. She was still trying to figure out how best to saythis chair is five grand and worth it.
“I’m off for the afternoon,” Cassie said. “So after we’re done here, we can give this whole apartment a deep energy cleanse.”
“Wow, Cass,” I muttered. “That sounds like so much fun.” On the bright side, maybe I’d drown in my own sinus fluids before then.
“It’s necessary.”
“I really don’t think I’mthatbad.”
“Your nose looks like a burrito someone forgot in the oven overnight and then tried to microwave.”
“Huh?” I said, losing my train of thought as my phone rang. ALANNAH SCHOOL flashed across the screen.
“Uh-oh,” Cassie said, her eyebrows pinching in concern.
“Not again,” I groaned, immediately picking up the call. “Hello?” I tugged the phone away from my ear as the shrill voice of the after-school program coordinator from St. Orwell Prep blasted through the speaker. “Hi, Mrs. Armsfield,” I said when the booming voice finally stopped. “No, I was not aware Alannah was still at school.”
I wished I could say this was the first time my dad and his second wife, Valentina, had failed to pry themselves away from their work long enough to remember to pick up their child, but that would be a lie.
“No, I’m not sure where they are.” I winced and pulled the phone further away from my ear. “Yes, I appreciate that the program ended forty-five minutes ago. I’ll be there soon.”
I hung up, catching Cassie’s eye. “Another Simon Sheppard special?” she asked.
I sighed and got up, quickly pulling on a hoodie. “You’d think on the second go around at having a family, he would have figured out how to actually show up as a dad. Apparently, all the other kids have gone home, and her nanny is out sick.”
Cassie grimaced. “Poor kid.”
“Tell me about it.” I knew what it was like to be the last kid left on the playground and realizing you’d been forgotten because everyone else had better things to do. I’d decided the first time I held Alannah that my little sister wasn’t going to have to deal with that same crap. So no matter how many times Dad and Valentina dropped the ball, I always made a point of showing up, con crud or no con crud.
“Car keys?” I asked Cassie.
“On the counter,” she said.
I nodded, threw back a couple of cold meds with the sludge in the mug Cassie had brought me, cringed at the taste, and booked it out the door.
Thirty minutes later, I’d made it through horrendous traffic and thrown the car in park in front of the gaudy doors of St. Orwell Prep. I’d barely caught my breath at the top of the stairs before Mrs. Armsfield was shoving Alannah out the door at me, complaining about being late for the dentist.
“Sorry,” I started to say but stopped. Mrs. Armsfield was already gone, and promising it wouldn’t happen again felt too much like a lie.I fought off a sneeze, then plastered a smile on my face and tossed my arm over Alannah’s shoulders. “Hey, kid. How’s it going?”
“How does it look?” she muttered, slumping against my side and practically dragging her backpack behind her as we made our way down the steps.
“Like you’ve lived a tough eight years.”
“Eight and three-quarters,” she corrected me.
“Can’t forget about the fractions,” I said. She was tall for eight (and three-quarters), but slight, her braids coming loose at the back of her head, and there were runs in her uniform tights Valentina would probably complain about later.
The only thing that bothered me was the downcast look on her face. I wanted to think that no adult would lecture a kid for something that was clearly her parents’ fault, but I knew from past experience that when Mrs. Armsfield was pissed off, she made sureeveryoneknew it. “Mrs. Armsfield sounded like she was having a…rough day,” I said, aiming for diplomacy.
