This rule was brought up last week at breakfast, and was more than likely the reason that neither Brandon, nor Jackson, would ever miss another one. Well, that and the scalloped potato incident…
Last week we had all gone over to my parents’ house for breakfast. Allie had come, as per usual. There were very few Sunday breakfasts that she’s missed in all the years we’ve been friends, and they’ve been mostly in the last couple of years. Since all three of the guys have been coming, she’s started showing up like clockwork again, which my mother adores.
My mom had made a big batch of scalloped potatoes for dinner on Saturday night, which all of us kids love. After breakfast, I had asked my mom if I could take the leftovers home with me, and (of course) she said I could. I reached in the fridge to get them and sat them on the counter to grab my purse and give hugs and goodbyes. The guys had all headed outside with my dad to look at something he wanted to show them, and when I turned to grab the potatoes, they were gone.
I spent a good five minutes looking everywhere for them, and it hit me. I headed out to the garage yelling for my brother. When I got out there, he was standing just outside the garage with the bowl in his hands. I had stomped over to him and demanded that he give me the potatoes. That’s when things went to hell and I ended up being brunt of about a million jokes, not to mention the 2,000 and counting hits on the Youtube video that my dear brother-in-law, Noah, had so kindly posted.
He said it was too funny not to post, what with Calland opening the lid and licking the potatoes inside the bowl so I wouldn’t want them. Which made me stomp and tattle to my mother (don’t judge me), and then Calland had told me I could have them if I could get them from him, but I couldn’t cross the imaginary line he marked across the driveway with his foot. Long story short, I chased him around the driveway screaming like a banshee trying to get the potatoes while everyone laughed at me. (I didn’t get the potatoes back.)
Since then, I’d tried not to let my brother get a rise out of me, but it never turned out well. Thanksgiving was next week and he was threatening to hide the homemade mac n’ cheese from me. Asshole. Always.
The Monday before Thanksgiving was hell for some reason. I drove myself to work because Luke had told me that morning after his shower (we were running late, so I didn’t get to share it with him) that he would be working late tonight.
The phones were ringing off the hook and Floyd was out of the office for the week. I only had to work Monday and Tuesday, because I have an awesome boss and got to take Wednesday, Thursday (obviously), and Friday off for the holiday. I was looking forward to having a five day weekend and getting to spend some time down at Luke’s shop with him. I’d even tentatively picked out a new one that I wanted Luke to give me, but I hadn’t asked him about it yet.
My phone rang again and I put the client currently crying on my shoulder about her case on hold while I answered the second line.
“Floyd Grim’s office, can I help you?” I said into the phone.
“You forgot to say good morning, my love.”
“Excuse me? This is Floyd Grim’s office…is there something I can help you with?” I tried again, not sure I really heard what I thought I did.
“You always say good morning or good afternoon. You didn’t say it, sweetheart. And you should have.” The voice continued speaking in a harsh whisper, deep, guttural, and chilling.
“I’m…sorry? Is there…can I help you?” I stammered, caught off guard by his words.
“I call you all the time to hear your voice. Figured it was time I actually spoke to you. I’m going to miss hearing you while you’re out on holiday, my love.”