Lib Novel Page 21
As I delved into a spiral of madness, Grayson spoke.
“Someone really should mop up that spill,” he hollered over me at Maxine. “Poor old Henry could have been sorely injured,” he said with a wicked grin.
Abruptly, I turned away, leaving a chuckling, smug Grayson in my wake.
What had I gotten myself into?
CHAPTER 13
Grayson
I swear the Kardashians had nothing on the Sanderson’s. Because as I sat in my sister’s dining room at her table, next to my mother and across from my sister and father, I was about ready to lose my shit.
It seemed the sole rum and coke I’d had to loosen up my tense nerves had not been enough. Because I’d barely been at her humble abode for an hour before our mother launched into her alcohol-infused interrogation.
As if living under the same roof wasn’t enough turmoil.
You can leave at any time, Gray.
But I was truly a glutton for punishment, it seemed.
And running away to the kitchen hadn’t been enough of a clue that I didn’t wish to have the conversation.
“All I’m saying, is you’re pushing forty, Grayson. You should be settling down, laying roots, not—”
I set about to fixing a drink, a martini. Perhaps I could drown myself in olives and gin and none of their words would hit me.
“I’m perfectly content with my life the way it is,” I lied.
My father—a man with the utmost impeccable timing—must have had nothing better to do, because as soon as I’d poured the liquid, a waft of cigar smoke poured into the room.
“Your mother has a point, Gray. How can you sell happily ever after if you don’t subscribe to the newsletter yourself?”
I shook my head as I gripped the glass tightly. My gaze settled on my sister, who was leaning against the entrance to the kitchen, her eyebrows furrowed.
She mouthed, “Sorry.”
Yeah, I bet she was sorry. Sorry that our family drama ruined her prize pot roast dinner.
Not sorry that she’d suckered me into the seventh circle of hell dressed up like Martha Stewart.
“I don’t need to be a delusional romantic to have a sense of purpose, but I don’t suppose you would know anything about purpose considering your own commitments,” I drawled.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” he said as he narrowed his eyes at me.
“Nothing,” I said as I all but shot back my drink.
“Perhaps you should go easy on that, Gray,” my mother said, hiccupping from her own round of liquid courage.
The same liquid courage that spurred her to bring up my skeletons in the first place.
I pulled the shaker from her, turning my back.
“I only learned from the best, mother. Isn’t this how one is supposed to deal with meddling, pain in the ass family?” I shot my father a look, raising my eyebrow at him. His jaw tensed, but he didn’t say anything. Instead, he only puffed on his cigar like an angry old man.
“Gray…” my sister called out, but I’d had enough.
I stormed through the kitchen door, out to the covered deck, traipsing over to the fire pit Aaron was lighting.