Page 73 of The Bad Girl List

My mom says, “We’re going to have to rearrange some things to make this work.”

Auntie Helen says, “I had to sign up for six different mailing lists to get tonight’s dinner coupon.”

Auntie Dee says, “Just flag their emails as spam. That will get rid of them.”

Auntie Helen says, “Six mailing lists! Do you know how much time that took?”

Mom says, “I think I know a way to use tonight’s coupon and fit in the casino.”

“What are you guys arguing about?” Annika plops into a chair and grabs a glass of orange juice.

“Tony Moretti and his friends challenged us to a blackjack tournament,” Mom explains.

Auntie Helen says, “They want to win back the money we took from them last night.”

When Trevor and I returned from the vineyard last night, the old-timers and the aunties had been at the tail end of an intense card game. When the aunties won, they jumped up and down and cheered, while the old-timers each threw a twenty-dollar bill onto the table.

Auntie Dee says, “They challenged us to a rematch. They want us to go play blackjack at the local Indian casino.”

Mom says, “Whichever group has the most chips at the end of the night wins.”

Auntie Helen says, “And the losers have to treat the winners to a buffet dinner the following night.”

Ah. I understand the problem. This challenge means rearranging two schedules.

“I learned a long time ago not to get involved in vacation scheduling,” I say, walking over to the egg carton sitting on the kitchen counter. “I’ll scramble the eggs while you guys work things out.”

As I crack the first of the eggs, Mom gets up from the table and comes toward me, leaving Auntie Helen and Auntie Dee to argue over logistics.

“Dom,” she says, “you haven’t mentioned Oliver much in the last few days. Is everything okay?”

“Yeah Mom, everything is fine.”

“Have you guys talked since you left San Francisco?”

I consider coming clean, then rule it out. I’m still feeling sad about Trevor, and I’m not in the mood for drama with my mom.

“Dom?”

“It’s tax season, remember? Oliver doesn’t like to be bothered during tax season.”

It’s a perfectly believable statement. Mom has been hearing that story for the past five years.

“Okay. If you want to talk about anything, I’m here.”

“Thanks, Mom. Everything is fine.” I shift my attention to the eggs, hoping she’ll get the hint and drop the subject.

“Okay, sweetie.” Mom drifts back over to the kitchen table.

She obviously picked up on the chemistry between me and Trevor, despite our best efforts. Or maybe she’d overheard someone in Trevor’s family say something.

It really doesn’t matter. I’m on vacation, and I’m not going to see Trevor Moretti again. She’ll forget him in a day or two.

Now I just have to figure out the best way to tell her about Oliver.

CHAPTER 22

Sunset

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