Page 92 of Revenge Puck

Sutton continues giggling. “Dude, all you do these days is scowl and sneer at people. Molly was asking if Uncle Aaron was actually the Grinch in disguise.”

She is so full of shit. “Sounds like my niece is as dramatic as her mother.”

“Wow.” Sutton doesn’t miss a beat. “Attack a child.”

“She gets it from you.” I snort and set the lid on the pan, the heavy cast-iron clinking softly as it settles. I swing the pot-filler over an empty pot, turn the handle, water rushing into the pot.

“She most certainly does not.” There’s a pause on her end. “Why does it sound like you’re cooking?”

“Because I am cooking.”

Duh.

Obviously.

“Don’t be a smartass.”

“Can’t help it.” I laugh, tap the spoon against the pan, and set it on a plate next to the stove.

“What are you making?”

“Ragù.”

Attempting to, anyway.

“Excuse me? I thought you said you were making ragù.” More pausing. “You mean you’re heating it up from a jar?”

“No, I’m using Grandma B’s recipe.”

Silence. I can practically hear the wheels turning in that part of her sister brain that cannot let things go. She’s latching on now that she’s caught a whiff of something.

“Wait. Are you havingcompany?”

“Yes.”

“Wait,” she says again. “FaceTime me, I want to see this.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Come on!” Sutton whines, trying to video chat. “Let me see.”

I decline and continue with my tasks: boiling water, stirring sauce, unthawing garlic knots.

“You never have company.”

“False. I have teammates over all the time.”Sometimes… At least once a year.

“Pfft. You order pizza.”

“So? Ilikepizza.”

“Well, who’s coming for dinner?” I imagine Sutton leaning against her kitchen counter now, arms crossed, pouting because I’m slow with information. “Tell me!”

“If I tell you, you’re going to tell Mom.”

“I promise I won’t.”

I hesitate, which she takes as a sign to ask a follow-up question.