“Mr. Butler?” He giggles. “When did my dad get here?”
“I’ll let your father know that you’ll need a minute.” Marie nods before slowly backing into the house.
By the time I convince Martin that his father is not hiding in my parents’ backyard and lure him back into the house with the promise of cornbread and pie, dinner is already underway. I plop Martin down at the end of the table as far away from my father as possible, and I take the spot next to him.
My phone buzzes with a text the moment I sit down, and the name Martin flashes across my screen. Of course, I know that this text isn’t actually from Martin. It’s from Smith, whose number I mislabeled, but Martin, who happens to be looking over my shoulder, does not.
“Holy shit,” Martin announces during an unfortunate lull in the conversation. He points at my phone screen. “How did I do that?”
He garners a few curious looks from around the table, but none quite as obvious as Smith’s.
“Eat your cornbread,” I whisper through a clenched smile.
I hold my phone underneath the table and open the text.
Martin: We need to talk.
Penny: Now isn’t a good time.
Martin: Before dessert?
Penny: IDK
I make a show of putting my phone on silent and turning it facedown on the table as Marie brings out the salad course. I shovel a few bites into my mouth and keep an eye on Martin to make sure he eats something too. My understanding of how marijuana affects the body is limited at best, but at least if Martin is eating, he isn’t talking.
A walnut flies across the table and hits me on the cheek. Across the table, Phoebe points at my phone and motions for me to turn it over. She’s about as subtle as a mime on acid, but my parents don’t notice. They’re too busy listening to my doppelg?nger to realize that a quarter of the table is completely stoned.
I grab my phone and once again make sure to keep it out of Martin’s view.
Phoebe: R U hi 2?
Oh, Phoebe. I only wish I could record this moment and savor it later on when I’m not in charge of stopping a grown man from making an ass out of himself in front of his boss.
Penny: No
“Do you smell that, Silvia?” My father lifts his nose in the air like a bloodhound trying to catch a scent. “I think that skunk is back again. You know, we’ve had the worst time with skunks lately.”
My mother’s face turns as red as a brick. “No, Carter. I don’t smell anything.”
It’s the worst lie ever. The dead can smell the weed on Martin’s jacket.
“Really? You don’t smell anything?” My father appears utterly befuddled. “Mother, what about you?”
Half the table shifts their attention to Nana Rosie.
“Oh, it’s definitely a skunk,” Nana Rosie replies without breaking a sweat. “I was talking with Alice next door, and she thinks there’s a family of them squatting in the neighborhood.”
“Do skunks normally travel with their families?” My mother shoots Nana Rosie a sideways look. “They always seemed like solitary animals to me.”
“Of course they have families,” Nana Rosie fires back. “Do you think baby skunks just fall from the sky?”
“Like ninjas,” Martin says with a mouthful of cornbread.
“What was that, Martin?” my father asks.
“Skunks are ninjas,” Martin replies.
“They certainly are. Every time I go out there, the little bastards completely vanish. If it wasn’t for that god-awful smell, I’d never even know they existed.”
“You should do a stakeout.” Martin smacks the table enthusiastically. “You could set up a tent and wait for them to show themselves, or if you’re afraid to sleep outside, you could put up some cameras. You should probably have some cameras in the backyard anyway to make sure nobody breaks into Nana Rosie’s weed house.”
“Weed house?” my father asks slowly.
“He means seed house,” Falon blurts out. “Nana Rosie keeps heirloom seeds in there. They’re very valuable.”
My phone screen lights up with a text.
Nana Rosie: Penny, dear, please change the subject before I write you and your sister out of my will and leave my remaining fortune to build a skunk sanctuary by the beach. Love, Nana.
I’m not built for this kind of pressure. I’m not the person you call to make sure that a dinner party doesn’t go off the rails. I’m the one who does the derailing.
I scan the table for a lifeline. I just need someone I can volley a question to and change the subject. Phoebe and Falon are out. Phoebe can barely keep her eyes open, and Falon looks like she’s afraid of her own shadow. Martin’s useless, and I’d rather talk about skunk ninjas than listen to Smith right now. Mom and Nana Rosie are eyeing each other like rival mob bosses, which means my only real lifeline here is Sarah.