Page 44 of Absinthe Minded

“Enough. Ladies.” I used the same tone as I had with the dog. “It’s too early in the morning for this. Why don’t you two go have breakfast? We’ll meet you at the auditorium.”

“I’m not leaving until I speak with my daughter.” Nadine put her hands on her hips.

“You’re right, Mrs. Guthrie. Maggie has enough to deal with this morning.” I set Ryan down and moved around the bar. One hand on each woman’s shoulder, I guided them to the living room. “You two need to go. Enjoy breakfast together. We’ll meet you there.”

“Of course.” Evelyn smiled and plucked her purse from the couch. “Put Ella in the adorable pink dress I bought her.”

“I will.” I kissed my mother’s cheek and opened the door.

Nadine’s frown deepened, but she left.

Even with the door closed, their voices carried inside the house.

Zach shook his head and took his coffee to his room. Meanwhile, Ryan crawled onto a bar stool and picked up Nadine’s abandoned mug.

“Oh no you don’t.” I took the cup from his hands. “How about some cereal?”

“Pancakes?” Ryan giggled.

“Cereal.” I pulled the box out of the pantry.

“Pancakes.” The boy folded his arms and gave me a look that promised a tantrum if I didn’t comply.

“Pancakes it is.” I addedstop giving in to the three-year-old terroristto my list of shit to do.

Fifteen minutes later, I set a plate of pancakes in front of Ryan.

“These are weird.” The kid eyed his breakfast. “Cereal, please.”

I closed my eyes and counted to ten. “You’re killing me, little dude.”

“Do I smell pancakes?” Zach came back out of his cave.

I took the plate from mini-Bin Laden and slid them to the teen.

Dragging her dance bag behind her, Chloe walked down the hall.

“Good morning, Princess. Want some pancakes?” One look at her and my smile faded. She looked like hell in a pink leotard and black tutu.

Before I could ask, Chloe grabbed her stomach and barfed on the carpet. The room erupted in movement. The boys groaned and abandoned their breakfasts. Ryan’s milk spilled during the melee. I knelt beside Chloe, and she showered my chest in vomit.

Maggie ran into the room. She took one look at the situation, turned, and ran toward the bathroom.

Chloe glanced down at her ruined dance costume and burst into tears. “No!”

I’d seen war veterans go into a post-traumatic fugue state but had never experienced one myself—until then. My mind blanked.

“My tutu!”

“Come with me.” I tossed my shirt in the laundry, took her hand, and led her to the bathroom.

“I don’t feel good.” Chloe sobbed while I mopped the puke from her tutu with a frilly white hand towel. One of Maggie’s special, decorative-only hand towels.Shit.

“I know, sweetie.” I wiped the carnage from my chest and started a shower. “Do you feel like you’re going to throw up again?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Okay, let’s get you cleaned up.”

---