“Thank you,” Tereck offered.
“Do you have honey?”
Rachel’s ass had touched the sofa before she popped back up. “Of course.”
Once behind the kitchen wall, her smile fell. “Perrier, honey.”
Owen walked in behind her. “Don’t leave me with them,” he whispered.
“Don’t leave them alone.”
He grabbed a soda from the fridge and walked out. Rachel found the honey, lifted her chin, and entered the torture chamber.
“Here you go.”
Rachel was proud of herself for not tossing the honey at the woman.
“How are you doing in school, Owen?” Tereck asked.
Owen shrugged.
Rachel glared.
“It’s okay.”
“He’s getting A’s and B’s,” Rachel added.
Deyadria placed a tiny drop of honey in her tea and proceeded to stir. “What is that B in?”
“Math and science.”
She stopped stirring long enough to stare. “Both?”
“I hate math and science.”
“Hate is such a strong word.”
Owen glared. “I don’t care for math or science.”
Deyadria smiled, as if she had changed Owen’s language for good with one suggestion.
“Much like I don’t care for a festering, pus-filled pimple on my butt.”
Tereck spit a tiny bit of coffee, and Deyadria choked on her tea.
Rachel tried hard not to laugh.
Owen sipped his soda and burped quietly.
“Owen earns A’s in English,” Rachel pointed out.
She’s bitching about my B in math.
Jason looked down from his monitor to see the text message lighting up his screen.
Did you try complimenting her?
She’s a hag.
Jason leaned back in his chair with a grin. Calling her a lovely hag won’t work.
Rachel sat at the head of her table, the roast she’d been cooking all day was perfect, the gravy was free of lumps . . . all the sides that she normally didn’t bother with played nice and didn’t undercook.
“How is that new little job of yours?”
The woman could cut her with a simple word. Nothing about her position at Fairchild Charters was little.
“It’s working out really well.”
“Are you still driving in instead of taking the train?” Tereck asked.
“For now.” Rachel took a bite, found it hard to keep eating when her appetite was zip.
“For the price you pay to park in the city, you could have had a bigger home,” Deyadria said.
Rachel held her fork a little tighter. “The company pays for my parking.”
Deyadria didn’t look convinced. “What was the name of it again?”
“Fairchild Charters.”
“Oh, yes, that’s right. Planes.” Deyadria pushed the food on her plate around before taking a tiny bite.
“They’re already talking to Rachel about a promotion,” Owen said.
She smiled across the table, liking the praise in his voice.
“I would think that would be hard in a company that big,” Tereck said.
“Oh, please, Tereck. Rachel is young and beautiful. I’m sure if she smiles at the right person, she’ll manage free parking and a pay raise.”
Rachel placed her fork aside. “Actually, Deyadria, I’m really good at my job.”
“Is that so?”
It was hard to talk when your back teeth were grinding together. “Did you ever work outside the home?”
The woman held her head high. “I graduated from Columbia.”
“Yes, but did you work?”
“Tereck and I met when we were young.”
“So, no.”
Silence filled the table. Rachel wanted to gloat.
“That’s a pretty sweater, Deyadria. It matches your eyes.”
All three adults turned to stare at Owen.
“What a lovely thing to say, Owen. Please call me Grandma.”
Rachel saw the internal struggle on his face.
“Let’s give that more time,” he suggested.
Rachel reminded herself to hug the kid when this was all done.
Hard.
It totally worked!
Jason had turned his phone ringer on high so he wouldn’t miss any of Owen’s messages.
What did you say?
I told her the gray sweater she wore matched her eyes.
Jason started to reply but Owen beat him with his next text. Gray like dark clouds in a storm from hell . . . but I left that part out.
He was really starting to like this kid.
Good choice. How is Rachel holding up?
Dot, dot, dot filled the screen long enough for Jason to think Owen was distracted from giving the answer.
The hag started to make digs about Rachel’s job. Rachel started questioning if the hag ever held a job. It was getting ugly.
The skin on Jason’s neck prickled. What does the hag know about Rachel’s work?
Probably nothing. That doesn’t stop the hag from putting it down. Told you she was a total b*tch.
At least the kid used a character instead of spelling out the whole word.
Rachel cleared the table, tossing most of her food in the trash. Tereck ate his, much to the complaining of his wife, who reminded him of his cholesterol. Of course she said something more to the tune of “Careful, Tereck, your cholesterol is a bit high, wouldn’t want to waste the extra points on too much of this.”
Because Tereck had taken her up on more coffee, she was stuck with them for another thirty minutes, minimum. She wasn’t sure she’d survive it.
“. . . Rachel is doing a lot of the work herself on the weekends.”
“What did I miss?” she asked when she walked back into the living room.
“They were asking about the doorframe.” Owen pointed to the half ripped out project leading into the kitchen.
“Oh, that.”
“Owen was telling us you’ve done a lot of projects since you both moved in.” Tereck was working hard to speak before his wife ever since the woman’s snarky crap about her job.
“I’ve gotten very used to sanding and painting.”
“We counted eight layers of paint in my room,” Owen told him.
“Sanding?” Deyadria asked.
“Sadly, yes. I suppose it’s better than a gym membership.”
“How old is this house?” she asked.
“It was built in 1965.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes, why?” Rachel was certain there was a nasty comment hovering in the woman’s head.
When Deyadria smiled, it unnerved her.
“We have some good news for you, Owen.”
Owen and Rachel exchanged glances, then turned to Tereck.
“Oh?”
“Your father is coming to town just in time for Christmas.”
Owen paused. “You mean your son.”
“He means your father, Owen.”
“Right . . .”
“You don’t seem happy,” Deyadria said.
“I’ve seen the man six times in my whole life, the last time at my mother’s funeral. Why should I be happy to see him?”
“That wasn’t his fault.”
Rachel watched the emotion on Owen’s face. This wasn’t going to end well.
“And whose fault was it?” Owen asked.
“If your mother hadn’t kept you away . . .”
Owen snapped. “Don’t talk about my mom.”
“Deyadria. Leave Emily out of it,” Rachel warned her.