Page 66 of Personal Foul
“I can make that work. Go hop in the shower, I’ll let the others know the plan and get started on homework.”
Isabelle offers me a smile, only slightly marred by her puffy face. “Thanks, Charity. You’re the best.”
I wave her off because I can’t come up with an answer to that. I’m so far from the best it’s disgusting, but she doesn’t need to know that. Especially not right now. At the very least, I can help her get over Andrew.
Part of me is tempted to text Dylan about it, but I’m not even sure what to say.Your friend broke my friend’s heart. Punch him in the face for me next time you see him. OrTell your friend he’s a dick and we hate him now. I feel like neither option would get the response I want. And what response would I even want? Dylan’s not going to turn his back on his friend on my say so. And it’s true that Andrew was stringing Isabelle along more than anything.
I never should’ve agreed to the double date. Of course, I never expected Dylan to agree to such a thing. It’s not like he has any reason to do me favors, though that apparently isn’t stopping him now either.
Hell, maybe he would punch Andrew in the face for me if I asked him. Stranger things have happened. Look at us now.
After texting Kayla and Andrea, I pull out my laptop and books. I have a little over an hour to turn in some discussion questions for my linguistics class and read as much as I can for literary criticism.
As much as I’ve been feeling like a terrible friend lately, at least being there for Isabelle gives me the opportunity to make up for it now. At least a little bit.
* * *
Hope answers the door with Grace in her arms, a look of relief washing over her face. “You couldn’t have come at a better time.”
Gracie squeals and reaches for me. Chuckling, I take her, bracing myself for the way she just flops over into my body. “Rough day?”
With a groan, Hope ushers me inside and closes the door behind me. “Rough week, more like. I don’t know if she’s just picking up on our stress or what, but everything’s been a battle lately. So even though this isn’t anything fun like a pedicure or whatever, going to the dentist is going to feel like a break.”
Laughing, I set my squirming niece down, only to have her immediately grab my hand and start tugging me in the direction of her room. “Charity! Tea party!”
“Good luck at the dentist,” I call to my sister over my shoulder.
“Thanks!” She gives Grace a hug and a kiss. “Be good for Auntie Charity, sweet girl.” And with a wave, she’s gone, not even pausing to put her jacket on before she’s out the door despite the chill still in the air today.
She’s obviously desperate for a break. She’s been working from home this week since Grace’s preschool is on spring break. Maybe I’ll offer to come over and play with Grace the rest of the week to help out. The house is far messier than normal, and I’m sure it’s from having to juggle taking care of Grace and getting work done at the same time. Not easy by any stretch.
Playing with Grace is a full-time job, and she has no tolerance for distraction, no matter how momentary. “No phones!” she orders when I pull mine out to see who texted me.
Dylan: What time should I pick you up?
“Hang on, sweetie. I just need to tell one of my friends something.”
Her angry face at the audacity of the interruption turns to curious, and she gets up from her tiny table and comes around to my side, peering over my shoulder at my phone. “Who is it?”
I debate what to tell her for half a second. But what does it matter if Grace knows I’m texting Dylan? “His name is Dylan.”
“Oh. Does he want to have a tea party with me?”
With a grin, I shake my head. “Probably not, sweetie.”
Her lower lip pokes out, and she crosses her arms, clearly affronted. “Why not?”
Biting my lip, I consider the best way to answer that question. Honestly, the thought of Dylan hunkered over Grace’s play table holding a miniature plastic teacup makes me want to giggle, but if I let that out, I’ll hurt Grace’s feelings. To her, a tea party is the height of fun. Why wouldn’t someone want to have a tea party with her?
“Well,” I say slowly. “Some boys don’t like tea parties.”
That has her eyebrows pulling together, like those words don’t make sense. “That’s silly. Tell him he needs to come to my tea party.”
My suppressed giggle escapes, but I tamp it down quickly. “Oh, sweetheart. I don’t know if that’s a good idea. We’d have to ask your mom and dad if it’s okay first.”
She nods. “Okay. We ask mama when she’s home. Then you tell your friend to come to my tea party next time.”
I open my mouth, though I’m not sure what to say, but Grace moves back to her side of the table and offers more tea to Mr. Fluffermuffins, the giant stuffed red dog sitting beside her, the matter clearly settled.
