Page 37 of Cloudy With a Chance of Bad Decisions
Mavis.
My darling, lovely, slightly-older-than-toddler-age niece.
“Unca George,” Mavis greeted me from behind her sandcastle with her huge brown eyes. For the first time since I’d left for the airport that morning, I finally relaxed.
“Hi.”
“Why is your face red?” she asked. “You look weird.” I waved a hand at myself, fanning the heat from my cheeks as I shrugged.
“It’s summer.”
“Okay.” She gave me a dubious look. “Myface doesn’t do that.”
“Then you’re lucky,” I replied, tucking into my food with gusto.
The unnamed cousin-kid with a bat peeled across the yard toward us with a squeal. His bat was held high as he paused by our quiet nook, before moving on. Kid was going so fast he was going to hurt himself. He’d looked at me like he expected me to jump up and yell at him. And once again, shame coursed like acid in my veins.
The pickle on my plate was another reminder of what a disappointment I was. Mom had bought these for me. She’d been so excited for me to come home. So excited to show me off to her friends…and I’d…
Christ, she was probably so embarrassed.
I felt horrible that I’d let her down. I’d cracked the facade I tried so fucking hard to protect, and everyone here had seen.
“Ilike pickles,” Mavis interrupted my spiral of self-importance. She was obviously eyeing my plate. Taking the hint, I offered her my pickle. I didn’t have much of an appetite anyway, even if they were my favorite.
“Thanks.” Her chubby little fist was covered in sand. She accepted my humble offering and brought it close to her face. As soon as it had passed inspection, she took a thoughtful bite.
“Good, right?”
“Good.” Her words were muffled around her mouthful, but she did grace me with a tiny-toothed grin that made my heart throb. Snorting, I did my best to hide my responding smile behind my hand, lest she see it and think I was laughing at her—even though I was.
After thoroughly wiping the remaining pickle juice off my fingers, I grabbed my sandwich. Not a burger—for obvious reasons. Simple cold cuts on white bread. Mom always provided it, because she knew better than anyone how heinous Dad’s hamburgers could be.
I was lucky they’d had napkins at all.
Mom tended to forget that.
Across the yard, she was chatting with Roderick. I shrank behind Mavis, using her as a shield in the hopes that no one would look at me. I hated this—feeling small. And I was so fucking pissed at Alex, because he’d proven to be just as much of a dick as Brendon was.
Turning my attention back to my niece, and my sandwich, I tried to ignore the fact I had no idea where Alex had ended up. It was difficult, but I managed. Mostly. Wayward worries plagued me—my food like sand on my tongue.
Mavis was surprisingly excellent company—very distracting.
She thought my suit was “good”.
She let me know when my face wasn’t “ugly” anymore.
She asked if I liked building castles.
All while pilfering half the food on my plate. Which wasimpressive. She was a tiny, precious garbage disposal with one pigtail loose. For nearly an hour, I licked my wounds in private, ignoring any and all adults, deliberately hiding as far away from the crowd as I could. Eventually, my food started to taste like food again, and the pit in my stomach disappeared.
Which, of course, was when Alex found me again.
I hadn’t seen Alex approach. Sneaky bastard came from behind. Like a coward. He disrupted my peace, like always, and I was halfway out of the sandbox before he could fully settle next to the spot I’d just vacated. Immediately, his hands were out, held placatingly.
“I just want to talk.”
He looked vulnerable sitting on the ground while I loomed above him.
