AllFreeNovel
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“DVD player’s all set,” Jack announces, emerging in the doorway, “and I’ve left detailed instructions on how to switch to the next season, since the ones I wrote last week are gone.”
“Oh, yes. I had to throw the notepad at your aunt Maureen when she said my green pullover was too bright.”
“Of course, youhad to. Can I drive Elsie home now? Or is the abduction still ongoing?”
Millicent huffs. “Do take her, please. I’m sick of both of you. You’re not nearly as entertaining as Jessica Fletcher.”
She kicks us out as unceremoniously as she welcomed us in, making a symphony of faux-irritated noises that are belied by how hard she clings to Jack’s hug.
“I’ll stop by later to shovel some snow,” he promises.
“Fine, but do not come in. I’ll be busy with my show.”
“I know.” He kisses her forehead. “Be good till next weekend. Have fun writing spite wills.”
“I shall,” she says defiantly before slamming the door in our faces.
“Does she really?” I ask on our way to the car. The snow crunches under our feet.
“What?”
“Write wills for spite.”
“Probably.”
“Why?”
“Pettiness. Boredom. Loneliness. When I was sixteen, my father made a comment about her roast being dry, and she pledged a million dollars to a bunny shelter.”
“God. Why?”
“It’s a vicious cycle. Most of my family does seem to gravitate around her because of the money, which is why Millicent wields it like a weapon. But that doesn’t endear her to the family members who are normal human beings and believe that threatening to vengefully pledge your estate to JPMorgan Chase just to make a point might be pushing it too far.”
“Is Greg one of the decent ones?”
“Greg’s the most decent, but he prefers to avoid Millicent altogether. He likes it when people get along, which cannot happen if she’s in a given quantum space.”
“Like Pauli’s exclusion principle.” We exchange a smile next to the passenger seat of the car. “You like her, though.”
“She’s an absolute monster. But she does burrow into you after thirty or so years,” he says fondly. “Like a tick.”
I laugh, my breath a gust of white in the space between us. “Should we explain to her that I wasn’t really dating Greg?”
“Nah. Millicent’s too busy launching feces wars to care about any of that.”
“You...” I try to sound casual. “Do you always call her Millicent?”
“It’s her name.”
“I mean, why not Grandma, or Gram, or Granny, or Mawmaw—”
“Mawmaw?”
“Whatever. Babushka. Maternal Forebear.”
Jack’s expression goes inscrutable. “It’s good, calling people by their names. It minimizes misunderstandings.” I think I see a split second of hesitation, like maybe he’s thinking of saying more, but it’s fleeting, swiftly gone in the glistening snow. “Come on. I’ll take you home before your roommate sends out an Amber Alert.”
I nod, because I do need to sort out the mess that is my life in a Smith-free space. But then something occurs to me: the rest of my life is going to be a Smith-free space.
