Page 107 of The Twins

“Brilliant,” Vegas murmurs, not impressed with the girl’s scheduling.

While the vegetables are getting washed and sliced, Charles prepares the meatballs with his hands, and the twins watch him in fascination. He prepares the sauce first, and then he pays more attention to the boiling water for the pasta.

“How will you get Mr. Abbott? He’s like a ghost,” Carey asks, ignoring Vegas’s murmuring. “I don’t want people to know about what happened to me.”

“I have no idea,” Charles says. “I wouldn’t want my kid to be exposed to the internet like that. Not that my kid will ever be exposed to perverts in the first place. I’d rather kill—”

“He’s joking,” Vegas intercepts, wincing. “He’s a cop.”

“Of course, he is,” Carey folds her arms over her chest. Kids notice more than we let on, and it gives me anxiety.

Charles pours the pasta into the saucepan, stirring it. Remo would help on any other day, but his energy is low, and he sits this cooking session out.

In less than forty minutes, the food’s ready. Vegas and I attend our table setting duties. Carey helps us while Remo remains in the kitchen with Charles. They clean up before we serve the food.

“Thank you,” Carey blurts out with a spoon in hand. Vegas hands out plates while I carry tumblers to the table. “Thank you for making me feel welcome.”

“We’re holding you hostage until your mom reacts,” Vegas says.

Carey chuckles. She doesn’t take his words seriously, but I glimpse at him with question marks in my eyes.

Once the table is set, we serve the food Charles prepared for us. He added the vegetables for Carey, but all in all, it’s a savory explosion. He never gives up his secrets, and although we watch him cook, we can never replicate how he handles his food’s spices.

Carey takes on more than she can chew. Her stomach’s not used to big portions, so we pack up her food in case she wants a bite later.

“Grey?” Carey’s voice reaches me through the fog, the uncertainty of my family’s burdens and responsibilities. I turn to look at her while I place her food in the fridge. Her entire body is shaking. She sways back and forth where she stands.

“What is it?” I ask.

“My mom’s outside. I have to go,” Carey whispers.

“No, you don’t. Let me get the guys—”

“No, I have to. We had fun. I have to go back home, or else there’ll be consequences,” Carey murmurs, stumbling over her words.

“Charles!” I yell. “Just wait, Carey. We’ll have a conversation with your mom.”

The twins stay inside while Charles and I accompany Carey outside. Her stuffed animal is in her backpack, along with the rest of her things.

Outside of our home, Liz Jean waits in a lavish car. She doesn’t bother exiting to greet her daughter with a hug, and it makes me wince.

Liz clicks open the backseat’s door for Carey to enter. Wordlessly, Carey climbs into the car. She avoids eye contact with us, and my stomach churns.

Charles grasps my hand tightly, and then he approaches the passenger’s window. Liz rolls it down. Before Charles can get a word out, Liz thunders, “Tell your broad that she’s fired. I don’t ever want to see her face again in my house. I’ll make sure that the Avra channel is aware of what an unprofessional skank she is. Carey Jean has daily obligations, and because of your carelessness, she’s in trouble with her employer.”

“Look—” Charles begins, but Liz puts her foot down.

She speeds away from our home before we can confront her.

“You’re tracking her, right?” I ask Charles.

“Of course, we are.”

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