Susan Mallery - Sisters Like Us

“What if I had a breakdown during the meal?” she asked. “I know the combination. I could take out everyone.”

He put the gun in the otherwise-empty safe and turned the lock to secure it. “It’s a plain black gun, Harper. You couldn’t possibly use it without gussying it up in some way first. I’d have time to subdue you while the glue set.”

Even as she chuckled, she wondered if there was an uncomfortable truth in his words.

They returned to the living room to find Jazz waiting for them. She ran over to get her greeting from Lucas. When he’d finished rubbing her face, he grabbed one of the rope toys the dogs loved and got on the floor with the two of them. There was much growling, yipping and wrestling as man and dogs vied for the precious toy. Harper retreated to the kitchen to continue prepping the meal. Per the rules of the universe, or maybe just per her mother, the salad plates should be set on the table at precisely six-thirty.

To that end, she got out a small mixing bowl, along with the ingredients for her Smokey Paprika dressing. She poured it into a dressing-size crystal pitcher, then whipped up the sauce for the chicken.

Lucas wandered into the kitchen and went to the sink to wash his hands. “Those dogs are smart. I have to up my game.”

Harper nodded at them feverishly drinking from their bowls. “If it makes you feel any better, they’re saying the same thing about you.”

He dried his hands, then leaned against the counter. “I saw the gift bags. They’re impressive.”

“Thanks. It’s a fiftieth wedding anniversary party. I’m sure it’s going to be lovely.”

Lucas’s gaze settled on her face. For a second, she was terrified that he was going to ask her how long they’d taken or had she been paid enough. He was always ready with the unexpected question. Thankfully he only said, “You’re busy these days.”

“I am.”

She walked into the dining room and studied the table. They were still celebrating spring, so the tablecloth was a pale mint color. She’d already stacked plates, patterned napkins and place mats on one end of the table. Now she just had to deal with the rest of it.

“Misty is going to be on an HBO special,” she said, as she headed for the craft room.

Lucas followed her. “That’s great.”

“I know. She’s so sweet. I love working with her.”

“If you say she’s your favorite, I’ll be crushed.”

Harper grinned. “She is, but I won’t say it.”

“Thank you. Let me know when the special’s on. I’ll want to watch.”

“Some of the humor is fairly subtle. I’m not sure Persimmon will get it.”

“Persimmon and I are reaching the end of our time together.”

“Because she’s turning twenty-three?”

“Something like that.”

Harper flipped on the lights to her craft room. She kept her dining room supplies at one end. She pointed to several clear, plastic drawers.

“Napkin rings. Pink, rose or silver. You pick,” she said as she studied her collection of vases and bowls, wondering what would be the easiest to put on the table.

Lucas held up four ribbed silver napkin rings. “These okay?”

“They’re great.”

She grabbed small, silver tone boxes in various heights and thrust them at Lucas, then chose flameless candles that would fit inside. Before turning away from the wall of crap she kept just because she was expected to decorate her table every single night for dinner, she flashed on her small, cramped office space and realized that, as always, Lucas was right.

“Oh no,” she said. “I’ve been doing this all wrong.”

“Your table?” her mother asked, appearing at the craft room door. “I’ve been telling you that for years. You need to layer your linens. Really, Harper, a tablecloth, place mats and napkins? A monkey could be more creative. At least make shorter, contrasting runners to drape widthwise. It will add visual interest.”

Harper found herself automatically considering her mother’s idea. In that nanosecond, she thought about the fabric she kept on hand and how easy it would be to pull out her sewing machine and—

“No!” She literally took a step back and shook her head. “No, Mom. Stop, please. I’m not looking for more ways to waste time decorating the table for dinner.”

“Waste time? It’s dinner with your family. What could be more important?”

Lucas took the supplies she’d given him and left. Harper put the flameless candles down and put her hands on her hips. “Mom, I’m serious. I can’t keep doing this. I have work I need to be doing. I have another order for gift bags, Misty needs new T-shirt designs. I heard back from the city and they want me to get going on the summer mailer. Once I design it and get it printed, I have to put on all the labels myself.”

Lucas returned and collected the candles. “Hire someone to do the grunt work.”

“What?” Harper and Bunny said together.

Bunny glared at him. “Lucas, I know you’re trying to help, but be serious. It’s bad enough Harper is taking time from raising Becca to do this, but to hire an assistant? If she’s going to work, she should be doing it all herself.”

Which was exactly what Harper had been thinking, only hearing her mother say it put the sentiment in a totally different light.

“Why?” she asked.

Bunny stared at her. “Why what?”

“Why can’t I hire someone? Why is that so awful? Mom, I’m drowning here. My job is how I feed my family. I’m struggling every single month. Your rent money helps and I appreciate it, but it doesn’t come close to covering the mortgage, let alone the expenses. I have no idea if Terence is going to keep his promise about paying for half Becca’s college, so I have to deal with that, as well.”

Bunny sniffed. “Becca’s a beautiful young woman. Why does she need to go to college? She’ll marry a nice boy who will take care of her.”

Harper did her best not to shriek. “Mom, no. Just no. Becca is going to get an education so she has choices and can take care of herself. I thought I’d have a man to take care of me and look where that got me. I will not put my daughter in this position. It worked out for you but it doesn’t work out that way for everyone. I want Becca to be strong and independent, like Stacey. She’s smart and capable. We need to encourage her to be her best self.”

“You’re being ridiculous.”

“I’m being honest. I’m nearly forty-two, Mom, and I’m struggling. It’s my fault—I get that. I should have finished college. I should have gone to work when Becca started school, but I didn’t. I’m doing the best I can with the choices I made.” She squared her shoulders. “I didn’t have time to make pasta. I bought some from the store. You’re going to have to deal with that.”

Bunny glared at her, then turned on her heel and marched out of the room. It was only then Harper saw her daughter and Jazz standing in the doorway.

“Your grandmother thinks I should layer more linens when I set the table.”

Becca rubbed Jazz’s head. “Going crossways? I can see how that would be pretty. You’re not going to do it, are you?”

“No.”

Becca smiled. “Mom, store-bought pasta is okay with me. The same with bread and cookies and anything else you don’t want to make. I’ve had it all before at my friends’ houses and it’s not horrible.”

“Thank you. I knew I couldn’t trust those other mothers. They always said they were feeding you homemade but they were lying.”

Becca giggled. Harper allowed herself to smile.

“Grandma loves the drama,” Becca told her. “It makes her feel special.”

An unexpected insight. “Thank you for that.”

“You’re welcome.” Her daughter sighed. “Thor ate the raw chicken.”