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Ollie takes his time selecting the plumpest and tastiest while I take my time attempting not to gag.
One way or another, we both wind up successfully back in my car, and I remember, somewhat late, that there was a reason we left the house so early to fight for our lives in a bakery.
And—surprise, surprise—it was not so I could throw up a little bit in my mouth.
Chapter 17
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Shifting chihuahuas shift perspectives.
“There she is,” Mom murmurs the second Ollie and I enter through the backdoor. My stomach knits as I find her coming under the arch out of the dining room and into the kitchen.
“Mom. Good morning! Happy Birthday!” I present the cake, which has wept a little. Thankfully, Ollie’s holding the incriminating evidence that we didn’t go straight to the bakery and come right back home.
I have no idea how I would even explain the detour if it weren’t shrouded in his glamour.
Mom’s arms cross, a line between her brows deepening. “What took so long?”
Alana pokes her head out from behind our mother. “You’re normally disturbingly early or you call. We were so worried.”
“Alana. I can speak for myself,” Mom snaps.
“I know, but I’m your translator.” She lifts her hand. “That will be ten dollars.”
Mom scowls.
“I do accept hugs in place of currency. The exchange rate is incredible.”
“I’m sorry,” I cut in. “Just…crowds. And I may have gotten distracted, but…cake!” I hold it forward.
Mom looks down at the bright yellow frosting flowers, and the tension in her arms lessens. “Is everything okay, baby? You’ve been…off these past few days.”
“Everything’s fine,” I say, a little too fast.
“Do you regret moving? You know you can always come back home.”
All the air leaves my lungs, and I nearly drop the cake, but Ollie’s hand plants itself firmly beneath the box before I do. I snap out of my head, firmly grip the box, and head toward the decorated dining room. “Please, Mom. Not this again. Noah was a mistake. Moving wasn’t.”
“Of course it was. That entire ordeal was a mistake. The biggest one you’ve ever made.”
“I like where I live, though. I love my house. I—”
“You have no friends. You’re overworked. You spend all your free time at home with your dog. Do you even know how many times you call me at night from that office of yours?”
A lot. I know. I’m not oblivious sometimes.
“You have no support out there. You should come home. If you wind up with a bad job here, you aren’t stuck because you have us.”
“I have a mortgage.”
“You can sell your house and use the money to pay it off. Just ask your father.”
My father is busy studying a very interesting piece of confetti on the table.
“All I’m saying is it’s never too late to start fresh and get yourself back on track.” Her attention shifts toward Alana. “That goes for both of you. You’re not that much older than Brittny. You still have plenty of time.”
“Indeed. Plenty of time. To make even worse decisions.” A slow, brilliant smile tugs on one corner of Alana’s mouth. “Hope isn’t lost. I’m still in my prime.”
