Chasing the Storm (Chasing the Storm, #1) - PUBLISHED

Chapter Eight

Last night, my mother announced that we’re having company today. Her best friend from college, whom she hasn’t seen since then, is bringing her family to spend the afternoon with us.

The distraction is welcomed, but I really wanted to go to Books-A-Million to express my anger to the manager. As it turns out, I don’t even have time to make a call, not to mention take a trip to that store.

My mother’s friend, Catherine, comes precisely at eleven in the morning – right on schedule. Mom warned me that she is always on time, so I couldn’t linger in my pajamas like I usually do. Instead I got up early, helped Mom clean the house and prepared a huge, delicious brunch.

“Catherine, this is my daughter, Abigail,” Mom says brightly. As I shake Miss Catherine’s hand, my mother continues, “Abigail, this is my ‘bestest’, Catherine.” Miss Catherine then introduces her husband, but her son interrupts loudly. He steps forward and boldly takes care of his own introduction, including his age, his best friends’ names and his favorite food. He attempts to continue but his mother reprimands him for interrupting while my parents and his father laugh.

When he asks me, “Do you have a boyfriend?” I’m extremely concerned about the way the rest of the afternoon will go, and just as I fear, it goes downhill from there.

We sit down at the dining table for brunch, and Zachary, the little redhead, insists on sitting next to me. He eyes me and copies everything that I do.

“Aw, I think our son has his first crush,” Miss Catherine comments, glancing over at her husband with a sweet smile on her face.

I’m sure his parents find that to be cute, but I feel like I need to toss lunch, and I haven’t even eaten yet!

Zachary tries to help me by putting rolls that he grabbed whole-fisted onto my plate. At one point he spilled his orange juice on the table and onto his lap. I’m not sure why this surprises me but he appears genuinely embarrassed. I move my right leg just in time to miss the juice that begins to drip down the table linen and onto the floor.

Catherine gives her son a two minute time-out from the table while we clean up the mess he made, but he whines so incessantly that I consider pleading to bring him back to the table! Admittedly, Zachary is a little more careful and in control at the end of those two woeful minutes.

Zachary devours about seven devilled eggs, almost as soon as he returns to his chair, shoveling one after another into his mouth. “These are good!” he says with a mouthful of eggs.

“Thank you!” I say. “I made them!”

“I like it when a girl can cook.”

I almost choke on the strawberry I just put into my mouth. “Okay, how old are you again?” I ask sarcastically.

“Almost seven!” Zachary replies proudly.

Another round of laughter breaks out, but I don’t find it funny at all.

The beautiful Maple Honey Turkey Wraps are enjoyed by his parents, but he doesn’t seem to like it one bit. He promptly puts it on my plate as if I would actually eat his handled and bitten wrap.

The little garbage disposal ate nearly the entire plate of pigs-in-a-blanket that took me almost an hour to painstakingly prepare. I refuse to tell him I made it as I watch him shovel the last one in his mouth. I’m nauseated before my stomach feels full and I excuse myself from the table.

My mother eyes me curiously as she permits me to leave. Much to my chagrin, the little redhead follows me…

All the way to my room.