Stroke of Luck

06

The thing about thinking you're day can't get any weirder is that it almost always did. I wasn't superstitious or anything, but jinxing had to exist. If it didn't, my life would be way too ironic for me to handle.

So, in typical manner, when I entered Sylvia's house a few hours after the goldfish funeral, I nearly collided with her in the kitchen. It was the first time I'd seen her in days.

"You're alive," I mused, raising a brow. I wasn't sure where this response came from. I was grateful that I didn't have to spend much time with my grandmother while I stayed here, so I had no reason to make her feel guilty about it.

"Is that an old joke?" She asked briskly as she cracked an egg over a measuring cup.

"You're cooking," I blurted out in response.

My grandmother was covered in flour and the kitchen table was buried beneath miscellaneous pots and pans. She jerked her head sharply in response to my question as if to say 'obviously.' I stared at her waiting for an explanation because so far I had been living off of the coffee shop down the street while she got her meals God knows where, and suddenly she was cooking.

"Close your mouth, Greer," She muttered. "You'll catch flies."

I rolled my eyes, thinking about how she sounded like such a stereotypical grandmother when she said that. But she wasn't a stereotypical grandmother. She hated my mother and she hated me because I reminded her of my mother, so the only logical explanation behind her cooking was if she was planning on using me as one of the ingredients.

"I'm having company tonight," She informed me, as if she could hear the questions running through my mind.

"Company," I echoed. "Are Hansel and Gretel stopping by?"

Sylvia shot me an unamused look. "No. Your father is."

I stilled. "That's not funny."

"It's not a joke."

I opened my mouth, but closed it soon after. I didn't know what to say. I didn't even know what to think. After a few moments passed where the only sound was the clinking together of utensils and dishes, I finally said, "Why?"

"He's family," Sylvia answered as if it was that simple.

"Not anymore," I reminded her. "He left Mom and remarried."

"Legal contracts are not what makes a family."

"Apparently not," I snapped. "Because you clearly care more about him than you do about my mother and me."

"Watch your tone, young lady," Sylvia warned. "You seem to have forgotten who's putting a roof over your head."

"The same woman who's pulling the rug out from underneath me," I retorted.

"You have nothing to be upset about," Sylvia pointed out. "You won't even be joining us for dinner."

"Family only?" I sneered, and she rolled her eyes. "Fine by me. I already have plans with people who don't make me want to decapitate myself."

It was only after I said this that I realized now I would have to leave the house tonight. I mean, obviously I had to leave the house tonight. It wasn't like I was going to sit around and play catch up with Dear Old Dad, but I was hardly drowning in options.

Reluctantly, I pulled out my phone and texted Liv.

Greer: Change of plans. What time are you picking me up for the hockey game?

• • •

Hockey rinks were fucking cold. I tugged at the sleeves of my army jacket, my eyes darting around the room. Liv and her friends weren't planning on leaving for the game until 7:00, but my father was going to Sylvia's at 5:00 so I'd been hiding out here since 4:30. Admittedly, it wasn't the most productive use of my time.