Chapter Four: Quinn

Chapter Four

Quinn

I pour myself a cup of coffee and sit at the kitchen table, phone in hand. Blinking, still too tired to focus on the bright screen of my phone, my finger hovers over the email icon. I have a handful of new emails, and while I can assume a few are junk, I know the others are from work.

If I open it and see a problem, I won’t be able to stop thinking about it. And I already have enough on my mind.

“Want some eggs, dear?” Mom turns, looking at me over her shoulder as she scrambles a skillet full of eggs.

“You know the answer to that, Mom.” I open F******k instead. The emails can wait. If something was terribly wrong, someone would have called me by now.

“What about over easy?” she tries, knowing I detest eggs. “I can make you pancakes instead.”

“You don’t have to, Mom, but thanks. I’ll stick to coffee for now.”

“You got in late.” She raises her eyebrows and smiles. “Did you have fun at the bar last night?”

“I spilled a tray of drinks on myself, but it was all right. Archer took me home so Dean and Kara could stay out.”

“That was nice of him. I’m glad he was able to make it this weekend. Dean said he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to get time off from work.” Mom turns the burner off and grabs a plate. “I haven’t seen that boy in years.”

“He’s not a boy anymore.” The words spill from my lips, and I think of sitting outside on the glider with Archer last night. My pulse increases and heat flows through me. Archer was the subject of my dreams last night, and in my dreams, we did more than just sit and talk.

Mom scoops her eggs onto her plate and eyes me curiously. She’s always been eerily—and annoyingly—perceptive.

“Right. He’s not.” She grabs the salt and pepper and joins me at the table. “You know you all are always just kids in my eyes.”

“That’s because you’re old.”

“You say that like you forget you’re not getting any younger. Though you are right about Archer. He’s a doctor now,” she says with a smile. “Which is impressive on its own, but even more so considering all he went through in college.”

I almost spit out the sip of coffee I just took. “What did he go through?”

Before Mom has a chance to answer, the back door opens and the dogs go barreling through the kitchen to greet Weston, my oldest brother, and Jackson.

“Grammy!” Jackson squeals and squirms out of Weston’s arms. He gets stuck in the middle of the four dogs, who are all wagging their tails with excitement and licking Jackson’s face. He’s the only person—well, besides Mom—who lets the dogs lick his face. They love him for it.

“Hey, sis.” Weston takes off his boots and crosses the room. I set my coffee down and stand, welcoming him with a hug. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”

“I know. I’ve been swamped at work.”

“How’s the Batmobile coming?” he asks with a smirk. Weston’s a cop, and together we keep the Batmobile theory alive in Dean’s mind.

“Will you two stop already!” Mom steps over Boots and scoops up Jackson. “Poor Dean actually believes you.”

“Mom, not even Jackson believed me when I told him I was building a Batmobile.” Shaking my head, I sit back at the table to finish my coffee. Lord knows I need it.

“Right, Grammy. Batman already has the Batmobile.”

“My three-year-old son is smarter than our brother,” Weston mutters, making me laugh.

“Grammy, I’m hungry.” Jackson’s eyes are on Mom’s scrambled eggs. “Can I have that?”

“Of course, little mister!” Mom puts him down at her spot. “I made those just for you, you know.”

Standing to get more coffee, I smile. Mom’s been like that my whole life, never stopping to think about herself for even a second when it comes to her family. I chat with Weston for a bit before he leaves to run errands and go home to sleep before working the night shift.

Then Jackson and I go outside to feed the chickens and play with the dogs while Mom rushes around to clean the kitchen. The house is already spotless, but since she’s hosting the party this evening, she’s in overdrive.

I know something is wrong the moment we step back into the house. Mom’s on the phone with one hand pressed to her forehead.

“Don’t panic. It’s not a disaster. We’ll work it out, sweetie. All right, bye now. See you later.” Mom hangs up and whirls around. “This is a disaster!”

“What is?”

“The caterer is sick.”

I blink and wait for her to elaborate.

“Kara’s aunt and cousin started their own catering business a few months ago. She wanted to hire them to be nice.” Mom shakes her head and starts madly scrolling through her phone for someone else to call. “Her aunt has been sick with the flu all week and her cousin woke up this morning throwing up. I can’t believe she thought it would be okay to make the food up until now! The moment her aunt got sick, she should have canceled, not leaving us high and dry the day of the party.”

“It’ll be okay, Mom,” I reiterate. “I’m sure we can find someone else to cater tonight.”

“On such short notice? It’ll be a miracle if we do.” She trades her phone for her to-do list and takes a deep breath, trying not to panic. Raising four rowdy boys and one wonderful daughter—who might have gone through a super sassy teenager phase—has given Mom an edge on appearing calm when she’s internally freaking out. It’s something I inherited from her and am thankful for when I get stressed with work.

“Mom, go take a shower. I’ll call around. And if I can’t get someone, we’ll put something together. Dad’s still out on a job, right?”

“Yes, he won’t be back until the afternoon.”

“Perfect. He can pick up whatever we need in that time. And Kara’s a pretty good cook, isn’t she?”

“She’s a wonderful cook. But it’s her party and that’s the last thing—”

“Mom, it’s not the wedding today. If she needs to help make appetizers or whatever, she can.”

“Right.” Mom comes over and kisses my forehead. “I’m so glad you’re home right now, honey.”