My Soon-To-Be Sex Life Read Free Page B

kitchen via the back door. A steady growth of gritty snow clumps formed on the area rug wherever she moved her boots.
    â€œI’d say you guys went overkill with the cat litter.” Amber eyes sparkled over wind-burned cheeks as she spoke in the middle of our muted war. “You’re supposed to sprinkle it around for traction, not bury each step two inches deep.”
    â€œCharlie nearly died on Rachel’s stairs today,” Mom said. I thought I detected disappointment in her voice when she said ‘nearly’. If this was one of Shakespeare’s tragedies, that’d be foreshadowing. “She came home and emptied two of poor Shadow’s litter bags out there in about three seconds.”
    Grace ditched her winterized gear - jacket, boots, gloves, while mom and I avoided eye contact.
    â€œWay to recycle, Charlie. Shadow won’t need it anymore.” Grace pursed her lips. “I’m sorry, I know he was the feline love of your lives, but I don’t miss him sitting on top of the fridge and dive bombing my head.”
    â€œI almost had him trained for cat stardom,” I said, taking credit, and breaking my silence for Grace because it was difficult to stay sullen around her. God knows I’ve tried. “One more level and he’d have been at full Ninja Kitty status. Think of the roles we could have snagged with a cat like that.”
    Grace reached out to mess up my bangs. “Very droll. How’s it going, Brat?”
    I fussed with my flat-ironed-into-submission hair, re-established the swoop and walked to the pantry, saying over my shoulder, “I’m still not allowed to see my boyfriend, I killed my all important diorama on the way home from school, I think I might need to start shaving my toe hair because I saw Roach’s toes today and she doesn’t have any, and now Mom tells me I’m going to move in with the rat-bastard who made her childhood a living hell.” I grabbed a handful of Ritz crackers from a box on the shelf and shoved them in my mouth. “How’s your day, Sunshine?” I spit bits of Ritz as I spoke.
    â€œCan’t complain.” Grace shot Mom a glance. “This is breaking it to her gently?”
    â€œShe thinks we’re lesbians.” Mom poured herself a cup of tea, her fingers white on the teaspoon as she stirred in too much sugar.
    â€œWhat?” Grace laughed. “Wouldn’t Ian love that? He’s always hinting he’d be up for a little three-way action.”
    This was the main reason Grace had always blended so well in our dysfunctional household. She was just as twisted as the rest of us. Even Dad had laughed more when Grace was around. “Although I’m not sure I needed to hear the sexual fantasies of her eBay-groom, at least she ,”I jerked my chin toward Grace, “can handle a joke.”
    Grace ran a hand through her attractively disarrayed short blonde locks. “It’s the do, isn’t it? You get a pixie cut and suddenly everyone thinks you’re trading camps.”
    â€œYou’re as bad as she is,” Mom said. “Charlie, set the table, please. Supper’s almost ready.”
    I sniffed the air, suspicious. “What are you talking about? Nothing’s cooking.” Now was not the time for one of Mom’s experimental meals. I could still feel the lumpy, cold tomato soup dish she made last week as it had slithered down my throat. I shuddered against an instant dry heave. Mom had an inability to resist those health-food magazines at the grocery store checkout counter, but they did more harm than good.
    Thankfully, the front doorbell rang.
    â€œPizza guy’s here.” Mom grabbed a few bills from her purse and handed them to me. “Give him this, tip’s included.”
    Seconds later, I offered the money with a benevolent smile. “My mother says, keep the change.”
    Mr. Pizza Guy did a quick count. “Whole