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“Why would you want to do that?”
My frustration grew, and I had to bite my tongue to keep from saying something I’d regret.
“I need to go,” I said. “I love you, and I’ll talk with you later.”
I hung up the phone, my mood even lower than usual. I didn’t know why talking to my own family made me this way, but it was like I was back in Nashville, miserable with no way out.
Cain came outside not much later, presumably to get Eric from school, so I took that as a sign to get back to work at my computer. Marketing was the last thing I cared about, but I knew Dad would give me another lecture if I missed anything else.
Eric got home around four with Cain, and they starteddinner right after. Usually, I left to let them do it alone while I figured out what I would eat, but tonight I didn’t have the energy to move.
Work was draining, especially since Trevor had sent me four emails with things to do, and one with another offer for the house. He wanted my answer and all of my tasks done same-day, or there would bemoreemails in my inbox complaining about my remote work. I finished what I could, but ignored the one about the house, knowing there was no amount of money that would make me sell.
I heard Eric talking to Cain about his day while they worked. Cain got a pot and let Eric watch it while it filled with water. After it was on the stove, Eric added salt. I was sure they were making pasta of some sort, which sounded delicious. I needed to get some at the store next time.
I was typing up another email when Eric ran over to me. I didn’t expect it, and jumped when he asked, “What’s your favorite sauce, Mollie?”
“Sauce?” I repeated, blinking the exhaustion out of my eyes. “For what?”
“For noodles! I like the white one, but Cain likes red.”
“Oh, uh. Usually red.”
“Aw, dang.”
“But white is good too.”
Eric seemed pleased and went back over to Cain. Now I was very hungry. Maybe I could go to the store and cook the same thing once everyone went to bed.
Cain hadn’t so much as looked at me. When he wasn’t actively cooking something, his arms were tightly crossed over his chest, his eyes only on Eric. Luckily, the five-year-old hadn’t picked up on his sour mood, but I knew what was off.
Apparently, Cain was a decent cook, because itsmelled delicious. It was tomato rich with a hint of savory herbs. My stomach growled, begging me to have some.
Eric got his food first.
“Can I sit next to you?” he asked.
“Of course,” I said as I eyed his food in jealousy. What brand of sauce was that? I needed to find it.
I dragged my eyes back to work, but the laptop shut in front of me.
Cain stared at me. “No working at the dinner table.”
I glared. “I have things to do.”
“They can wait.”
“Do you have any other rules?” I asked as I rolled my eyes.
“We always eat at the table.”
Was I seriously getting kicked out while they ate? Could he not let me be? I grabbed my laptop, wondering how I could get revenge.
But then the plate in his hand was set down in front of me.
“What is this?”
“Dinner,” was all he said.