Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 65939 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65939 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
“Udders,” Mom corrects him. “And don’t forget that humans were lactose intolerant for a lot of our history, so perverts kept trying to drink milk until some lucky one had the mutation that let him digest it, and then he—because it must have been a man—passed the milk-drinking gene on.”
“I think fermentation is still stranger,” I say. “Have you ever seen how kombucha is made? My boss made me make it once, and there’s a jellyfish-like thing involved.”
“It’s not a jellyfish. It’s a Symbiotic Culture of Bacteria and Yeast, or SCOBY,” Cameron says. “And it’s edible.”
“It didn’t look edible,” I say. At least no more so than a jellyfish, which is on the menu here, so there’s that.
“Many things become edible if you’re brave enough,” Jordan says sagely.
“But you don’t need to be particularly brave to eat SCOBY,” Cameron replies. “I’ve eaten candy made from it. And jerky. All tasted fine.”
I remind myself of today’s yuck yum mantra and ponder out loud how the first SCOBY came to be.
Cameron shrugs. “Someone in ancient China left very sweet tea sitting out, some yeast and bacteria got into it and ate all the sugar, and then someone drank the result.”
The waiter shows up and asks everyone if we want dessert.
Mom and Dad order while the rest of us tell him to come back in a couple of minutes, so we can go check out the display.
On the way to the dessert, Ashton leans in and whispers, “I love your parents.”
“Yeah,” Jordan says. “I do too.”
“You do?” Cameron looks from brother to sister like they’ve just sprouted proctologists from their butts.
“Oh, yeah,” Ashton says. “If you don’t see it, you don’t know how lucky you have it.”
Jordan nods. “You can just tell they love each other very much. Super adorable.”
“I guess you’re right,” I say.
My parents do love each other. Always have, despite some people thinking that Mom just wanted Dad for his money. If she were a gold-digger, she would’ve left him after the malpractice suit that so drastically changed their financial situation, but she stuck with him and is actually helping him get back on his feet.
Note to self: avoid getting into that topic because Dad doesn’t mind talking about it—probably so he can joke that when it comes to that lawsuit, assholes in both senses of the word were involved. More importantly, if Ashton learns that my parents are not helping me financially, he may wonder how I’ll pay the bills now that I’m unemployed—which gets much too close to my secret project. Relatedly, I also need to make sure Ashton doesn’t mention me losing my job to my family. I haven’t told them because, again, they’ll wonder how I’ll pay my bills.
“I’m getting the Rubik’s Cube-shaped one,” Jordan says.
I scan the display. “I like the sponge cake.” One made to look like a kitchen sponge, of course.
“I’m still pretty hungry,” Ashton says. “I think I want the spaghetti with meatballs.”
I grin. The version he’s getting uses buttercream for spaghetti, chocolate truffles for meatballs, and strawberry cream as sauce. “Can I try it?” I ask.
“We should all try each other’s desserts,” Jordan suggests.
“In that case, I’ll take the one that looks like a book,” I say. “So I’ll have something to share.”
When we return to the table, the conversation turns to food and stays that way until the end—because I do my best to keep it there and not on my employment situation.
Afterward, Ashton, Cameron, and Dad fight over the check until my brother plays the birthday card, which makes the others surrender.
“It was very nice meeting you,” Ashton tells my parents, and I know he means it.
“Yeah,” his sister says. “I’ve never had this much fun at a business meeting before.”
“Thank you for coming,” Cameron says. “I liked having a business meeting during my birthday party. I think I’ll make it a new tradition.”
My parents and I boo this last part, but our hearts aren’t in it.
“Would you like to share a cab?” Ashton asks me.
The ears of my whole family perk up at this.
“Makes sense,” I say. “We live two blocks away from each other.” More like thirty-six, but who’s counting?
“Right,” Ashton says, eyes gleaming. “You’re basically the girl next door.”
My brother turns to Jordan. “Where do you live?”
“Uptown,” she says vaguely.
“I’m taking my parents to Connecticut,” he says. “I can drop you off on the way.”
Damn it. Didn’t he read my text?
“No, thank you,” she says. “I’m meeting some friends for drinks.”
If my brother is disappointed, he hides it well.
“Okay,” Ashton says. “Let’s go… neighbor.”
He leads me out, and we jump into a cab.
“Your place or mine?” he asks. “Not that it matters, given that we practically live in the same building.”
“Mine,” I say. “And thanks for not putting me on the spot.”
“No problem.” He texts the dog sitter and then lays a hand on my thigh.