The table falls silent. It’s as if someone has sucked all the oxygen from the room, and we’re all just waiting to pass out and escape this hellscape.
“It was me.” Martin raises his hand. “I was nervous about how this weekend might go and—”
“It wasn’t you.” I shove Martin’s hand back down. There’s no need for him to make an even bigger ass out of himself in front of my father than he already has. “I’ll take the blame.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake.” Nana Rosie stands up. “Carter, the kids all got it from me, and if you think that I’m going to go find a hotel room for a plant that is less of a threat than the oleanders out back, then you’ve got another thing coming. I’ve been growing it in the greenhouse since spring.”
“Mother?” My father gasps. “What in god’s name are you doing growing marijuana plants in our backyard?”
“I needed a hobby.” She shrugs.
“But why not cross-stitch or crochet? Something more appropriate for a woman your age.” He lowers his voice as if the entire table isn’t watching this telenovela unfold in real time. “Do you smoke it too?”
“Good lord, Carter, it’s a medicinal herb, not crack. But if you must know, no. And before you ask, I don’t sell it either. I share it with friends, and occasionally the household staff.”
“Household staff?” My father furrows his brow. “Do you mean Marie?”
You can practically hear the collective movement of everyone turning to face the kitchen, where Marie is standing with a tray of pie slices in hand.
“Are we ready for dessert?” she squeaks.
“Just a moment, Marie.” Nana Rosie waves. She turns to my father and lowers her voice to a growl. “Carter, so help me, if you embarrass that woman, I will make it my personal mission to spend whatever time I have left on this earth making your life miserable, and then when that’s done, I’ll haunt you.”
“Maybe we should take a brief recess before dessert,” my mother says. “I need to collect myself. I’ll ask Marie to clear the table before she serves the pie. We’ll eat dessert at eight thirty. Everyone be on time.”
It’ll be a miracle if anyone shows back up at this table.
Chapter 21
Everyone clears out of the dining room like a classroom full of kids on the last day of school. I put Ozzie on his leash and head out front. I need fresh air. Honestly, after that dinner, I think I could also benefit from a lobotomy or at the very least an emergency call to my therapist. The lobotomy is probably all I can afford, especially now that my chances of getting my father on board with a loan are slim to none.
I’m about to turn down the street when I realize that I’ve got the wrong elderly Pomeranian on the other end of my leash. Mine is a leg lifter, while this one is decidedly a squatter. Great. I can add dog larceny to my list of screwups.
I turn back toward my house and see Smith and Ozzie half a block behind us.
“I swear I didn’t mean to steal Harriet,” I groan. “I also didn’t mean to snap at your girlfriend, but I’m less sorry about that than I am about the dog.”
“We need to talk.”
There’s a serious edge in his voice, and I don’t like it. Suddenly, it feels like I’m sitting in the principal’s office for ditching school. Smith doesn’t have any authority in my life. I don’t need to listen to anything that he has to say. It’s his turn to listen to me.
“No. I need to talk, and you need to listen.” I press my finger to his chest. “Why are you carrying around my engagement ring?”
It’s like I’ve smacked him in the face with a pitcher of ice water. He stumbles over his emotions, until he finally settles on angry. “You went through my bag? I can’t believe you went through my bag. Actually, I take that back. It absolutely makes sense that you would snoop through my personal belongings.”
“Answer my question.”
“Unbelievable.” He shakes his head. “You’re not going to even attempt an apology?”
“For what?” I say. “You asked me to go through your bag. You knew it was in there.”
“I asked you to look for something to eat so our driver wouldn’t pass out. Not so you could pickpocket me.”
“I didn’t pickpocket you,” I snarl. “The ring is probably still in your stupid bag now in that stupid Tiffany box. And that’s another thing. Why would you put it in a Tiffany box? I mean, is Sarah so hung up on labels that you’re worried she’d turn down your proposal if it wasn’t with a shiny new ring completely devoid of personality like she is?”