So which was it, did he know that Fletcher and I had dated or not? What was his connection to Fletcher besides work?
Fletcher must be in some kind of trouble, but I didn’t know what. He became unhinged when he found out I had met Sullivan.
All I knew was that whatever was going on, I couldn’t trust Sullivan. Some internal warning went off anytime I was around him. There was no rhyme or reason to my warning feeling. But it was the same internal sensation that shot off anytime Zoe tried to set me up on a date or interfere with my current relationships. Things never ended well.
Dad had the same feeling. He called it gut instinct. I wasn’t sure I agreed because not everyone else had this. We were right one hundred percent of the time so far.
I wasn’t going to ignore it this time. Pulling my phone from my pocket, I sent Fletcher a text.
Me: This is completely random, but I’m getting that weird feeling again.
He texted back immediately.
Fletcher: It’s not a weird feeling. You haven’t been wrong yet. Who is it this time?
Me: Sullivan.
Silence. I’d expected him to laugh me off or at least respond, but he didn’t do either. So I texted him again.
Me: I know it doesn’t make sense. I literally have nothing to back up this claim, but since you do some work for him, I just wanted you to know.
I finished adding the willow branches to the vase while I waited for a response.
Fletcher: I trust you, Saidy. Thanks for looking out for me. I’ll be careful.
I released a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding and finished the arrangements much quicker now that I had said something to Fletcher.
“Here, try this one.” Mom set a green salsa out in front of me on the table. She’d always been of the philosophy that food could fix anything. I also believed in that philosophy. I hadn’t seen a size four since I was in middle school.
Zoe always told me, “Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels.” She was wrong. My mother made a lot of things that tasted better than skinny. Her lasagna, cookies, sour dough bread, enchiladas, and her never-ending obsession with making the perfect salsa. Dad always raved about the salsa that his mother made growing up. I was pretty sure it was my mother’s attempt to constantly compete with her mother-in-law.
Tonight was no exception.
“I added a Peter pepper this time.”
“A what?” I asked as I picked the bowl and took a big sniff. It even smelled spicy.
“A Peter pepper,” Mom repeated.
Dad made a frantic face from behind her. His finger spun in circles around his ear.
“Dad!” I admonished.
Mom spun around and glared at him. “You don’t have anything to talk about.”
I lifted the chip to my mouth, but halted the bite when I heard Dad say, “I’m not the one who planted porn peppers!”
I set the chip down on the plate and whispered loudly, hoping Grandmother didn’t hear. She was in the living room watching TV and planning world domination. “What in the world are you talking about?”
“Nothing!” my mom snapped. “Just eat the salsa and tell me it’s the best you’ve ever tasted.”
Dad chuckled and Mom swatted him with the dish towel.
“How’s that nice boy of yours?” Grandmother asked as she walked into the kitchen. Dad hurried out of the room—coward.
Mom grimaced and carefully folded the dish towel. As though it were so important, she couldn’t tear her eyes from it. I wanted to help offer to fold it with her.
“Grandmother, Fletcher and I aren’t together anymore. We haven’t been for a while.”
“I thought you would have kissed and made up by now.”
“Well, we haven’t.” I bristled at her interference.
Grandmother’s lips pinched together unflatteringly. “Oh, I should have known.”
She sniffed loudly and left the room. Dad miraculously reappeared and sat down at the dining room table with me.
I propped an elbow on the table and rested my chin in my hands. I picked up the forgotten chip. “Why am I the family disappointment?”
“You dropped out of ballet school,” Dad reminded me with a grin.
I shook my head. “She still regrets buying those five ballet lessons for me when I was seven. She acts like she paid my way through Harvard.”
“She hoped you’d succeed where I didn’t.” Mom laughed, but I knew it was a sore subject. My mother had my brother at eighteen. She had me at twenty. My little brother came along when she was twenty-three. Grandmother was still upset with my mother for “throwing her life away.”
I happened to think my mom was pretty phenomenal, and nothing could change that.
Picking up a chip from the bowl on the table, I scooped a bite of salsa onto it. I stuffed the whole thing in my mouth. Dad sat there looking like he was waiting for something to happen.
“No.” I coughed. I tried to get air in. Dad sat there grinning away, letting me shove that chip in, knowing the outcome.
“A little hot?”
“Did she make it out of fire?” I gasped, glancing at where Mom stood in the kitchen filling more bowls with the salsa.
“She didn’t add hardly any tomatillos this time. It’s mainly those peppers.”
“Can those peppers meet with an unfortunate accident? I normally love Mom’s salsa, but this…this isn’t right—even for her!”
Dad rubbed a hand across his chin. “You know, it’s a real shame that your grandma’s cottage is going to have to be built right on top of that pepper patch.”
I smiled and nodded. “That is a real shame.”
Dad leaned forward. “I hid the good salsa in the back of the fridge. If you pour it into the same bowl, we can eat it without your mom noticing we’ve switched them.”
“Hey, Mom, do you have any wine?” I called.
“Oh, yes! Let me go
