Page 18 of The Art of Being Merry
I can’t hold back my chortle. “Good thing we chatted. You would have left without them and had to go back.”
“Yeah, good thing. I’d better get them before I forget again. We’re going to stop at the bookshop after here, if that’s okay. I know you said you didn’t have any time constraints, but I’vealready been gone longer than I thought I would, so I wanted to be sure you’re cool with it. If not, Willa can go on her own.”
Her rambling is adorable. How have I never noticed it before?
Probably because you don’t spend a whole heck of a lot of time with her?
“Yeah, sure. Not a problem. We’re good here. Is there anything special they like for lunch?”
“Peanut butter and jelly or mac and cheese are always good choices. I’m not sure what else you can scrounge up. I tend to grocery shop on Mondays, so Sundays are a free-for-all.”
A sudden craving hits. “Do they like pizza?”
“Was Rudolph Santa’s favorite?”
I laugh again, shorter this time. “Ha, good one. I’ll order us pizza. What do you like on yours?”
“Eggplant or bacon and sausage when I’m in the mood for meat.”
Is it me or does her voice pitch higher when she says meat?
“And what’s today’s mood?”
“I’m feeling the meat today.”
“Great, meat it is. I’d better get back to the boys, and you need to get your gloves. We’ll be here when you get home. Take your time, Picassa.”
The nickname leaps off my tongue, and I don’t give her a chance to object to it. Nor do I wait for her reply, instead effectively ending the call.
Departing the bathroom, the house is quiet except for the noise from the TV. My hackles rise, realizing I’m the adult here, the one in charge, and I spent a significant amount of time hiding out in the bathroom instead of attending to their needs.
However, I find both of them in the same spots on the couch as when I answered the call.
Atlas looks at me. “Who was that?”
“Your mom. Who wants pizza for lunch?”
Jace’s hand shoots in the air. “Me. Is it lunchtime already? Mama’s been gone a long time.”
“Not yet, but I’ll have to order it. What’s your favorite pizza?”
“Plain.”
I look at Atlas. “And you?”
“Pepperoni. How about you?”
“I’m feeling bacon and sausage today.”
“That’s Mama’s favorite. I’d bet she’d be sad to miss out. Maybe you can save her a piece?” His countenance is stoic, and he shrugs a shoulder. Clementine’s in trouble with this mastermind and all his plans, his way of manipulating people. It’s surely working on me.
“Is it? Whaddya know? I’m sure we can save her a piece, though she might be gone past lunchtime.”
Atlas tilts his head at me, his calculating expression searing into me in a challenge. For what, I don’t know. “Think it’s time to try Minecraft now?”
“Sure. Let me just order the pizza.”
“I’ll allow it. Me and Jacey will set up the game.”
