“We are having the Bakers over for dinner.” And that, she didn’t have to tell him, was that.
Dad took a deep breath, then sighed and said, “Whatever you want, Patsy. Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
He took a bite of hash browns and mumbled, “A barbecue, I suppose?”
“No, Rick. A sit-down dinner. Like we have when your clients come over.”
He stopped chewing. “You’re expecting them to dress up?”
Mom glared at him. “What I’m expecting is for you to behave like the gentleman I always thought you were.”
Dad went back to his potatoes. Definitely safer than arguing with Mom.
Lynetta wound up eating the entire white of a fried egg and almost a whole pancake besides.
Plain, of course, but from the way she was glutting and giggling as she ate, it was obvious that at least she was in a good mood.
Granddad ate plenty, even for him, but I couldn’t tell what he was thinking. He was back to looking more granite than human.
Me, I’d started tuning in to the fact that this dinner could be more than awkward – it could be trouble.
Those rotten eggs were back from the grave, looming large and smelly right over my head.
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