Page 34 of The Way I Hate Him
She curls her nose. “He says it does not taste good.”
“Soooo not a compliment.”
“What’s a complent?”
“Compliment.” I chuckle softly while correcting her. “It’s when someone says something nice about you.”
“Oh.” She brings Chewy Charles to her ear and listens as he “speaks” to her. The whole time, she nods.
“What’s he saying?” I ask.
Her eyes narrow at me. “That’s private, Aunt Hattie. And we respect privacy.”
I nod. “That we do.”
She hops off my lap, and with Chewy Charles under her arm, she says, “But between you and me, he doesn’t want to lick you again.”
And then she takes off.
Insulted by a goddamn stuffy. I can’t imagine what Chewy Charles says about Ryland.
She runs back into the house, and Ryland waits for me as I get out of my car and walk up to him. He pulls me into a hug, tighter than Aubree but not as tight as Cassidy. A solid medium between the two.
“Hey, brother.”
“Hey, sis,” he says before opening the door to the house for me. “How are you?”
“Good,” I say even though I’ve definitely been better. I don’t want to tip anything off.
“Handling the breakup okay?”
“What breakup?” Mac asks as she jumps on the recliner chair beside the window that overlooks the potato fields.
“Mac, I said no jumping on the chair,” Ryland says in an authoritative voice I heard many times growing up. He’s raised me just as much as Cassidy. Tag-teaming me whenever we were home together.
She flops down on her bottom and asks again, “What breakup?”
“Matt and I are no longer dating,” I answer.
“Oh . . .” She looks to the side and then brings Chewy Charles to her ear. She nods and says, “We didn’t like him. He poked my shoulder, and I didn’t like that.”
“I can understand that.” I mutter, “He tried poking me but always seemed to miss.”
“Hattie,” Ryland says under his breath.
“What?” I whisper, “She didn’t hear me.”
Ryland whispers back, “She hears everything.”
“Uncle Ry Ry, what’s for dinner?”
“Hot dogs and beans,” Ryland answers as he moves toward the kitchen. “Go potty and wash up. It should be ready soon.”
She flings Chewy Charles in the air and then bolts upstairs as I follow Ryland into the kitchen, taking in the house and how nothing has changed. Not one picture is out of place, not one piece of furniture. The only thing missing is Cassidy’s warm presence and superior cooking.
“Hot dogs and beans, huh?” I ask as I sit on the counter in the corner of the kitchen like I did many times when Cassidy was cooking.
Ryland lights up the stove and pours a can of opened beans into the pot. “It’s the best I’ve got right now.” He goes to the fridge and pulls out a pack of hot dogs. “I want to take some cooking lessons but haven’t had any fucking time. Trust me when I say I feel like shit serving this to her. I know Cassidy would be pissed.”
