Page 21 of Mostly Loathing You

This earns me a nod of understanding as we make our way out into the cool air, the walk back to our office a welcome break from the hectic days I’ve been having at the firm.

The moment I reach my desk, I open the box of food from Andre’s, the smell of roast chicken and potatoes causing my mouth to water. Fishing around in my desk drawer, I struggle in my attempt to find a fork from a previous takeout order as I forgot to grab one from the restaurant.

Of course, there isn’t one.

I jump out of my seat and go to fish around in the drawers in the kitchen on our floor, my stomach growling, borderline eating itself in the process.

Letting out a cheer of triumph, I discover a wrapped-up set of cutlery from a catering order a few weeks ago stuffed in the back of the drawer that is typically reserved for rejected and unneeded sauce packets. Despite the busted McDonalds honey mustard cup that apparently spilled and now coats half the set, I grab it anyway, tossing the plastic in the trash can.

The thought of my roast chicken has my mouth watering in anticipation, the lack of breakfast this morning attacking me with full force. In a near run, I power-walk back to our office to find a confused Hannah staring down at a brown takeout box on her desk identical to the one calling my name.

“Where did this come from?”

I shrug in response, attempting to get back into the office without conversation. “I don’t know, Jackson must have grabbed you lunch since you wouldn’t stop bitching about it.”

She appears to accept this answer without so much as a snarky response, opening the box to find her favorite chicken penne inside. She doesn’t get it very often despite Andre’s being my parents’ go-to when George and Linda are in town.However, I’ve seen the way she reacts when she gets it against her mom’s insistence that she get a salad.

“Thank God.” She moans as she takes in the scent. I refuse to acknowledge what that sound does to me as I dart past her into my office, clicking the door behind me.

It’s not that deep—it’s just a fucking lunch.

TEN

HANNAH

No matter how many of these family meals I’ve been forced to endure in my life, it will never become enjoyable. It’s formulaic at this point. We sit down, we exchange pleasantries, then at some point during the meal, after my parents are done fawning over Jackson—and now Gen—my mother, without skipping a beat, shifts to criticizing my life choices. Whether she focuses on my career, what I’m eating, or my hair, she always has something to nitpick. I can’t even really blame my dad because I’d be hard-pressed to believe he even notices she does it.

While New York sucked in a lot of ways, something I loved was that I didn’t have to be around my parents unless I came to visit, because God knows they never came to visit me. When my mom was being a bitch, I could just hang up the phone—it’s not like she was about to show up at my apartment in Brooklyn. I can’t even say with certainty that she knew my address, and I lived there for five years.

New York City is crowded, infested with rats, and essentially a lottery when it comes to launching an actingcareer, but distance was the one thing it always managed to give me. It’s not a coincidence that I chose to attend the University of Tennessee before moving to New York…a university precisely 520.5 miles away from the hellhole that is Live Oak, Georgia. Too bad living in Atlanta, they have no qualms with traveling the five hours to visit. I’m not deluded enough to think that has anything to do with me, though.

The menu in my hand is nothing more than a formality. Andre’s has become something of a go-to for these meals, but the brunch menu at the very least offers more variety.

I opt for the eggs Benedict as my mother orders a fruit parfait, a scolding, judgmental expression searing into my periphery as I read it off the menu.

For someone who detests being around me so much, she really knows how to pick apart my choices, down to the side of hash browns I order.

“Gen!” My mother perks up, shifting in her seat to face my childhood best friend. “Have you gone wedding dress shopping at all yet?”

Like clockwork.

“Not yet. Savannah’s been traveling a lot so I’ve been holding off until I have someone to go with me,” Gen responds, taking a sip of her water in the process. This reminds me just how dry my mouth is at the topic at hand. My mom has been obsessing over Jackson and Gen’s upcoming nuptials.

Genevieve soon-to-be-Thatcher-Miles, the daughter she never had.

“Hannah could go with you!” My mom’s offer causes my glass to pause halfway to my mouth, a stinging sensation sent straight to my heart.

It’s not that I don’t like Gen. I love her; she’s family at this point. However, despite being friendly again and happilyhanging out socially, we haven’t had a single real conversation since last summer, when I gave her some tough love about her situation with my brother Jackson.

The two of them have been completely in love with one another since we were kids, so when they found themselves back in each other’s lives, Gen managed to do what she does best…she ran. I, however, was not about to allow her to do that to my brother yet again, so I showed up at her apartment to talk her into accepting her feelings for him.

I still don’t know how much of an impact that had—maybe she would’ve come to that conclusion eventually on her own.

“I’d love that!” Gen’s peppy tone shakes me out of my frozen state at my mother’s statement.

My stomach sours, but I don’t have it in me to tell her no. I want to find a way to be close again, I just don’t know how.

“We’ll figure out a time.” I force a smile, gulping my water down.

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