Page 93 of The Crowned Garza

As close to soundless as possible, I freshen up in the bathroom, dress, then head downstairs to make breakfast.

Twenty minutes later, I’m taking spinach quiches out of the oven when the chime echoes throughout the house and the front door opens.

I almost drop the quiches from whipping around too abruptly.

Mom’s brown curls bounce about her shoulders as she toes off her shoes in the small foyer, leaving them by the door. Head down, she ambles in with two tote bags.

Halfway through the living area, she glances up and notices me frozen in place like an ice sculpture. “You’re home? I thought you said you’d be gone on some trip.”

Clearing my throat, I set the baking dish down and throw a brief glance upward, hoping the chime didn’t wake Saint. “Uh, yeah, there was a bit of a snafu, so I scratched it.”

“Oh, sorry to hear. I know you were looking forward to it.” She deposits the grocery bags on the island. “I’m just dropping off some stuff from your aunt since you’ve been too busy to come by like I asked.”

“Goodies from Aunty Lynnette?” I dive for the bags. “Yay!”

Every couple of months, my aunt in Jamaica sends us care packages to “make sure we don’t forget our roots.” My siblings and I used to all-out brawl over who gets what, so Mom started divvying them out herself.

“Yes, Chippie’s Banana Chips,” I sing, hugging them to my chest. “I’m gonna have to hide them in my underwear drawer so Tripp can’t break in here and steal them like he did last time.”

Mom rolls her eyes at me. “I was gonna pack them away for you, but since you’re here…” She waves her fingers at me. “Ta-ta.”

“Just pretend I’m not here and go ahead and do it for me anyway, my kind, sweet mommy.”

“Nope.” She’s already beelining back to the front door. “I have to drop in at your brothers’, too, then get back to work.”

Worrying my lip, I debate if I should tell her about what happened with True and Torin last night.

Ultimately, I decide against it. Mom tends to overreact and over-worry in these instances. Better to wait until they’re back, where she can see them in the flesh, that they’re alive and well.

On her way out, she runs one finger along the surface of the side table in the foyer and makes a disapproving face. “Get this place cleaned.”

If she’d left here without pointing out something that needs to be done, it would’ve been a miracle. “I’m trying to find a new housekeeper. I fired the last one because she was sloppy and kept pocketing loose change she found around the house like she thought we were playing ‘finders keepers.’”

“Or,” she stresses, throwing a chastising glance over her shoulder at me, “you cando it yourself.”

Ha!“Have you seen the size of this place? I’m not about that cleaning life, Mommy dearest.”

As she’s putting on her shoes, the chime goes off again and my brother walks in with a large box.

Oh, dear God. What’s with everyone busting up in here this morning?

“Ah, Trent, you’re here. Good,” Mom says. “Saves me a trip.”

“What’re you doing here?” I demand, annoyed. “And what’s with everyone being wide awake and justdoing stuffso early in the morning? Do y’all not know how to procrastinate?”

“Mornin’ to you too, sis,” Trent grumbles grumpily as if he doesn’t want to be here either. “Wait, shouldn’t you be in Ibiza?”

An impatient sigh leaves me as I cross my arms. “The next time there’s a change in my life itinerary, I’ll be sure to let everyone know.”

“Always with the dramatics.” He drops the box he brought in and kicks it with his steel-toe boot. “Lexi asked me to drop this off for you. Something about custom throw pillows or some shit like that.”

“Ooooh! I forgot about those. Give her my appreciation for coming through for me.”

He jerks a nod then looks at Mom. “What do you mean I saved you a trip?”

She motions to the door. “Come, see.”

As Mom brushes past him and heads out the door, Trent pauses and lances me a suspicious stare. “Why do you keep glancing upward? Is that little shit you’re dating upstairs?”