Awks. ✓

Chapter 18: Pros And Cons.

"Mars Bar, you should open your own little place if you can cook this well," my grandma suggested between mouthfuls of noodles, "I'd be a regular, no doubt about that."

I shook my head, giggling at the idea of me being in charge of any sort of business. Me plus responsibility equaled catastrophic results just waiting to happen. My dad on the other hand never really commented on my cooking skills. Cooking was something I did once in a blue moon. Whenever the urge to cook came he'd always tease me, wondering why I 'suddenly wanted to poison him' or ask me 'if I had been possessed'. But by the way his arms would stretch over the table to grab bowls of food for thirds and fourths every time defied his words and jokes.

"So, how's work been lately?" He asked, picking up his chopsticks to grab more slices of spiced chicken.

See?

"Business has been dead. Less and less people are walking through the doors. The manager hardly ever shows up anymore." I complained. "Oh and then there's Bethany. She's been getting on my nerves a lot lately, like more than usual, but something tells me she won't anymore." I grinned to myself, remembering the events that had occurred earlier that day.

"You didn't kill the girl, did you?" My lovely father accused.

"If anything, I definitely killed her ego." I replied, taking my fork and pointing it to my heart. "I stabbed her ego and watched it deflate like a hot air balloon."

"That's my girl." He said, ruffling my hair.

"How many times have I told you this Dad? Not the hair, anything but the hair." I scowled, pouting and running a hand through my hair just for that extra dramatic effect.

"Oh, you never told me you brought muffins with you!" My grandma's disappointed but overly excited voice yelled, reaching the dinner table all the way from the kitchen. We hadn't even noticed her getting up.

"Oh yeah, I had Dyl pack them up for you because I knew I'd forget to." I told her. Dylan was a life saver.

I have the memory of Dory, the fish. The chances of me forgetting something within five minutes of hearing it are at a whooping ninety seven percent. That's why whenever I'm planning a visit to Grams' place or she's coming over, as soon as I see Dylan's face in the café, I tell him to remind me to pack them up for her. And usually by the end of my shift, I always find a packet of chocolate chip muffins ready to be taken home. Charming little helper he was.

"Aww that Dylan boy. He's a keeper." She cooed, taking a bite out of her muffin. "Bless that child's soul, he always picks the creamiest ones."

"I thought he never spoke." My dad stated, confused.

"Oh no, that's Alexander." I corrected him. "And he speaks. Just not often. And not to anyone."

My dad looked at me as if I were crazy and not making sense. And yeah, I was sort of, kind of not making sense and I might not be the textbook definition of 'normal'. "I was going to say something but I forgot." I mumbled.

"Well that's not a first." My grandma laughed, tossing her now empty muffin case onto her plate, moving her hand towards the packet of muffins to grab another.

"No." I said firmly, smacking the muffin out of her hand. "No more for tonight." I quickly pulled the packet from in front of her and placed it under my chair.

"Michael!!" She cried. "Are you just going to sit there and watch your daughter abuse your own mother like this? The woman who gave birth to you and raised you." She began to rub the hand I had slapped dramatically.

"Yes." He bluntly replied, wiping his mouth with a napkin before throwing it on top of his empty plate. "Mum I love you but Marianne's right. Your doctor called me last week telling me you were cheating on your diet again."