Page 76 of Cloudy With a Chance of Bad Decisions
The guilt, shame, and confusion I felt made my cheeks permanently flushed. And even Roderick’s cousin’s lack of hygiene could not pull me from my thoughts.
Gaggles of people filled the long tables that took up the majority of the main log cabin that’d been delegated for meals and crafts. Most of the children were still sleepy, some of them even laying their tiny faces on the tables to nap while their parents chittered back and forth. Everyone was dressed in variouspajama sets, but all were plowing through the food my mom, my siblings, and I had prepared.
Speaking of my wayward mother, she was currently heating a frankly terrifyingly massive amount of hot chocolate in the kitchen. I’d walked past her to get a refill for the bacon, and been momentarily floored by affection the second I saw her.
Her dress that morning was an eye-fuckingly bright neon yellow. Covered in tropical birds, her dress was nearly as obnoxious as the colossal pile of blond hair on her head. I swear to god it was somehow even taller than yesterday’s beehive.
Mom was singing to herself as she stirred the pot, looking like an evil witch with her cauldron of sugar. The scent of cocoa was so strong I wouldn’t be surprised if she accidentally summoned an Oompa Loompa. The current sight reminded me of an ad campaign I’d done once for a Halloween-themed cereal company.
Nostalgia warmed me from head to toe.
Every time we’d gone camping with Roderick’s family when we were kids, the first thing we did in the morning was heat up a huge jug of cocoa. It was tradition—which made it less than surprising that she’d opted to include that particular treat for Roderick’s wedding.
It shouldn’t have been a big deal.
And it wasn’t.
Until I was reassigned—no longer on plating duty—and relegated to the freshly set up “hot cocoa stand”. There was a sign and everything on a small black chalkboard, Mom’s handwriting effortlessly pretty, the words written in swirly white. She’d always had excellent penmanship, something that had inspired all of her children to follow in her footsteps. We were hellions growing up most of the time, but at least every last one of us had a passable signature—even Joe, and his massive-ass hands.
Atop the table was a giant thermos of the cocoa I’d watched her heat.Running its length was a plethora of small glass jars full of a myriad of toppings: marshmallows, sprinkles, peppermints. Beside the jars sat enough whipped cream bottles to feed a small army. Which…I supposed we kinda were.
Between Roderick’s family, June and Alex’s, and all the randos, the place was positively packed. I’d say I was surprised by the turnout, but that would be a lie. June and Roderick were obviously adored.
Anyway, Mom didn’t trust the teens and children to serve their own cocoa—which was fair—and meant that it was my job. At the front of the line was a group of rowdy teens. Judging by the dark hair, I figured they were probably from the James’s side.
Pre-teens maybe? No. Some of them were too tall for that.
They were giggling, and as I settled into the repetition of filling mugs, my thoughts wandered. Back to the tent this morning. Back to how sleep-scratchy Alex’s voice had been. And god…his dick. His dick had been so fat and thick and insistent—just as large as he’d hinted it was. Easily the same size as Nei—fuck!
Fuck, ow!
Fucking fucking fuck stick. Jesus Christ. Motherfucker.
That hurt!
When I glanced down, I realized I’d somehow—like a total idiot—poured near-boiling cocoa all over my fingers. Ah. Jeez. Fuck.Ugh. I wanted to swear, to stomp, to—to—something. But I didn’t. Young ears were listening. After what had happened at the barbecue I refused to cause another scene. And cussing up a storm was a sure-fire way to do just that.
Shaking, pain making my vision fuzzy, all thoughts—okay, most thoughts—of Alex fled.
“H-Here you go,” I managed through gritted teeth as I shakily handed the first teen his cup.
“Thanks, dude!” he said, stepping out of the way so the next teen-person could take his place. I grinned and bore the pain. Cup after cup, far morecarefully, I finished my task. By the time the line had diminished, the pain in my fingers had morphed into a dull numbness. Which…unfortunately meant that the burn was worse than I’d initially thought.
But even then,thatwasn’t when the shit hit the fan.
No.
It hit when Joe came bounding into the mess hall, his arms held high in triumph, a gaggle of bobble-headed faux alpha-males trailing after him wearing…hikingbackpacks. I vaguely recognized some of them from the barbecue, and also from serving them this morning, but not well enough to recall names. The hiking backpacks were a dead giveaway that something terrible, horrible, awful was about to happen.
Oh god.
No.
No, no, no.
Roddy was right behind Joe at the front, pleasant as ever. He fit in with my family better than I did. My chest gave a dull throb as I watched Joe herd him in Mom’s direction. Which also just so happened to bemydirection, as the breakfast table was adjacent to the cocoa one. I’d been lucky she’d been out of the room when I’d burned myself, or she would’ve caused a fuss.
“Mrs. M.” Roddy was grinning, all cheesy and earnest, like he had when we were sixteen and he’d asked me if I “might like to dance with him at the prom?”
