I suck in a breath and step inside. The air in the kitchen is overheated, stuffy. A whiff of horsey smell wafts off my clothes and reminds me of today, the show, the horrible lunch with Dad. Now this.
Jess hovers on the edge of the kitchen like a servant, like her very presence may upset Mom. She stands, toes splayed out, back arched, like she’s in ballet class.
“And after all the years I put in at that place…” Mom slams a bowl on the counter.
She was angry this morning about the listing she was assigned. I wonder if she might have said something that got her in trouble.
“If they think I’m going to take all the crappy listings, they’ve got another thing coming.”
The word crappy comes out more like cwappy. Her mouth droops.
Click Follow to receive emails when this author adds content on Bublish