18. Grant
Grant
Annabelle goes back upstairs, taking my favorite shirt with her. There’s a moment of silence while I make sure she’s gone and then I turn on my sister. “That’s just evil. You can’t deprive a man of his lucky shirt.”
“This can be your scientific test.” June sorts out wicks for teacup candles. “To see if the shirt is truly lucky. Can you still win without it?”
“I don’t want to do a test.” My forehead is on fire. I swat at the air. “Why did you invite her? You know she’s going to show up.”
“She’d better.” June gets out a pound of candle wax. “We need an even number of people for euchre and Annabelle makes eight.”
“Just what I always wanted,” I grumble. “Birthday dinner with my landlord.”
“Uh-uh.” June wags a finger at me. “You’re the one who insisted that it wasn’t your birthday, and that the holiday is stupid, and that you want to treat it like any other day. Pardon me if I took you at your word.”
“You’re a menace. You could make a podcast. Call it, ‘How to Ruin a Birthday in Five Easy Steps.’”
“It will be fine,” she says. “Dylan will be there too.”
“He’s your husband. He’s always there.”
“Exactly.” She acts like she’s scored a point.
“Are you trying to make it like a date?”
“Annabelle doesn’t have to be your date.” June blows dust out of a teacup. “She can be Felix’s date. Or Blake’s.”
“Over my dead body,” I snap.
“Ha! I knew there was some emotion in that cold, dead heart.”
“If you say so,” I grumble as I put my jacket on.
“So you’ll be there?” June’s already got her phone in her hand. “I’ll text the family chat.”
“I’ll be there,” I say on my way out the door. I don’t like the trap my sister set for me, but I’m going to walk straight into it anyway. I poke my head back into the room. “But it’s not my birthday dinner.”
“Got it,” she says, not looking up from her phone.
“And it’s not a date.”