Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
GRACIE
Well, I think it's safe to say my first day as a nanny is an epic failure. The kind that goes down in history. And in flames.
Everly did not sleep as long as I hoped. If this is how the little terror treats everyone, I fully understand why Ang can't keep a babysitter. Every time I attempted to put her in her bed, she threw a fit.
Eventually she fell asleep on the couch and I used the time to decompress. Oh and to talk to Annalee.
Which brings me to my present situation. Sitting in my brother's driveway because I agreed to dinner while I was distracted by the demon child screaming at me.
Now that's not to say I don't enjoy someone else cooking for me. I truly do. I even enjoy my brother and Annalee's company. What I don't enjoy is being so tired I want to fall face-first onto my bed and sleep for the next week.
Is this how parents feel on the regular? If so, I'm not sure why anyone willingly does it. I mean, I guess it's needed for the existence of our species, but seriously? This shit blows.
To make myself feel better, I decide to play a little game I like to call “How obnoxious will my brother and Annalee be?” And the first way to score is if either one of them opens the front door looking like they just rolled out of bed.
Stepping out of my vehicle and walking up the short sidewalk to their door, I knock once and wait. And wait. And wait some more.
I'm definitely scoring points tonight.
Yup. One point for me as Annalee opens the door and there's no denying what she and my brother were doing before I arrived. They are so damn predictable.
"Hey, Gracie." My brother's girlfriend beams at me. "There's no need to knock. You're always welcome here."
"Your buttons are a little messed up." I wave my finger at her shirt and chuckle when Annalee's face goes from slightly sex-flushed to pale to bright red in an instant. "And while I appreciate the hospitality, I would prefer not to walk in on whatever was happening before I arrived."
It isn't just Annalee's shirt that's messed up, her hair has the just-fucked look that I miss wearing.
I sigh to myself. If only . . . I immediately cut that thought off before it can go any further.
"Hi, Gracie." Owen joins us in the front entryway and wraps me up in a hug that only a big brother can give. "I'm glad you decided to come over for dinner."
"Five minutes sooner and I would've seen more than I bargained for." I push away from him with a smirk.
Unlike Annalee, my brother doesn't get embarrassed. Instead, he looks pleased with himself, and that makes me gag a little. It's my own fault for teasing the couple, so I quickly change the subject. "What's for dinner? You never said in your text."
Owen also never asked. He just demanded I come over to eat with them. And considering I'm running on fumes after the day I've had, there was no reason for me to turn him down.
"Homemade mac ’n’ cheese with grilled chicken. Your favorite."
I stop our forward progress to the kitchen and come to a screeching halt. "What did I do to deserve this?" I practically wail.
Owen looks at me like I've grown three extra heads, but it's Annalee who gives him away with her guilty look.
"What are you talking about?" my brother asks with a huff. "We asked you for dinner, so I thought it would be nice to make your favorite."
"Ah no, big brother. You might be a skilled liar, but your girl here isn't." I wave at Annalee. "You only make what I love when you either want to bribe me or give me bad news, so which one is it?"
My brother looks at his girlfriend and sighs, but it's Annalee who speaks first. "I told you my face would give it away."
I want to scream, “No shit, Sherlock .” No offense to my one day sister-in-law, but poker isn't one of her strengths.
"It's not bad news, per se."
I throw my hands in the air because anyone who has ever heard those words knows what it really means is that it's bad news. "Just tell me already and get it over with."
"Annie's left Chicago and no one knows where she is," my brother blurts out just as we step into his kitchen.
I find an island stool and drop down onto it. This is worse than I thought. "Does Nolen know?"
Nolen is one of my brother's best friends, but he's also the older brother of the man who broke Annie. She hasn't been the same since they split five years ago. No one knows why. No one can get either of them to talk about it. It's a giant friggin' mystery.
"I haven't told him yet. We don't exactly discuss the relationship. It almost ended our friendship when it happened, and we both swore we wouldn't let it come between us again."
Well, la-di-friggin'-da to them. I'm so glad they could put it behind them, but I have yet to speak to Nolen, and I'm not entirely sure I want to. I realize it's not his fault, but something tells me he knows more than he's letting on. Let's call it gut instinct.
"Did she say anything before she left?"
It isn't like my sister to drop off the face of the earth without a plan. After her breakup with Chase, she became anal about everything. She did nothing without a plan, her days more organized than a designer purse store.
"She told Michelle she had a new business venture she was considering exploring, but that was all."
Huh. "That doesn't sound like Annie at all. Are you sure she wasn't being kidnapped and trying to give Michelle a clue? Kinda like if I ever told you my favorite shirt is a blank tee, you would know I was in trouble and should send in the troops."
"Oh." Annalee bounces on her stool next to me. "Mine would be I want seafood for dinner tonight." She makes a face at the word seafood and I chuckle.
Owen’s face is deadpan. Apparently he doesn't seem to think we're very funny. "I doubt she was being kidnapped. Maybe after five years she's decided to move on and this new business venture will be good for her. She needs to start living her life again."
Riiiiight. "This is Annie we're talking about."
Owen leans both arms on the island across from Annalee and me and drops his head. "I know, but it sounded good in my head."
The timer on the oven goes off, and Annalee jumps up and rushes to take the hot food out. We work as a team to get the table set, and before long, we’re sitting around the small four-seater kitchen table discussing everything but our family drama.
"Oh, I forgot to tell you. I bought us matching shirts." I wiggle my eyebrows at Annalee who giggles like a schoolgirl while Owen groans, "Nooooo."
"Oh stop." I burst out laughing. "It's completely tame compared to what I usually wear."
"Well, now I'm curious." Annalee sets her elbows on the kitchen table and rests her chin in her hand. "Do tell."
"It says . . ." I pause for dramatic effect, and maybe to torture my brother just a little for his remark. " Apparently we're trouble together. Who knew?"
Owen lets out an audible sigh of relief. "I thought for sure with that pause it was going to be something terrible."
Annalee and I both laugh.
"Like what?" I ask when I'm able to speak again.
"I don't know," he answers, clearly frustrated. "Have you seen what you wear?"
I roll my eyes. "No, I don't have the first clue what kind of clothes I wear," I retort sarcastically.
"You know what I mean."
I do, but it's more fun this way. "I'm not sure I do. Why don't you tell me?"
Owen is obviously flustered when he stumbles through his sentence. "I ummmm . . . look." He points at today's obnoxious donut shirt. "Take that one for example."
I look down at the array of colors and smile. This one happens to be one of my favorites. "What's wrong with my shirt? It has a donut on it."
"It's not the donut that's the problem."
"Then what about it is?" Yes, I want him to read it. I want it so badly I'm practically salivating thinking how hilarious it will be when he does.
"It talks about wanting someone to glaze your hole," he seethes, and yes, I burst into laughter so hard I need to grab my side.
It only takes my brother a few seconds to realize what I did. "You wanted me to read it out loud," he sighs. He doesn't even bother to phrase it as a question.
"Yeah, I did." I wipe at the tears in my eyes from cackling like a maniac. "And it was so damn worth it."
Owen shakes his head. This is probably why he never came back to Chicago. My sisters and I could be a lot on our own, but put us all together and we tortured Owen the few times he graced us with his presence.
"I don't know why I bother to spend time with you," Owen huffs.
I reach across the table and snag his hand. "Yes, you do." I bat my eyelashes at him like a little girl would at her father when she wants something. "It's because you love me the best out of our siblings."
I know I'm the favorite, and I never let him forget it.
"Yeah, yeah, yeah." He wants to wave me off, but I won't let go of his hand. Right now I'm being that pesky little sister everyone tells people about, even though I'm in my thirties.
"Aww." Yes, Annalee says the word. "I can't wait to meet the rest of your sisters. If they are anything like the two of you, I'm going to love them."
This would normally be when I hide an eye roll at the mushiness of Annalee's statement, but I know it comes from a good place.
Annalee doesn't have biological siblings, and her stepbrother wanted her out of the picture to get her father's fortune.
So, sure it's a mushy sentiment. But who could blame the woman when she has no family of her own?
"You say that now," I tell her. "But you'll be singing a different tune when the six of us are in the same room together. Owen's the calm and domesticated one. The rest of us are feral cats."
Owen spits his soda across the table at me. "Hey, now!" I holler at him.
He wipes his mouth with his palm. "I'm sorry," he replies sarcastically, "but what else did you expect me to do when you call yourself a feral cat while I'm taking a sip of my drink."
"Not spit it at me," I argue back. "And you know it's true."
"Well, yeah, but I never expected you to admit it."
I shrug my shoulder at him and then look back at Annalee. "It's best to own our flaws and make them great."
The rest of dinner isn't quite as entertaining, but it's full of laughter and fun. I decline the chance to stay later, because, truthfully, I'm exhausted and my bed is calling my name.
Or maybe it's a certain someone who just so happens to own the place that bed resides in.