Pet Peeves

➟ prologue

Tara knew it was going to be a bad night the moment her mom told her to dress up for dinner.

“Dress up?” She had asked in disbelief, unable to imagine a night of Sloppy Joe without sweatpants. After all, it was Sloppy Joe Friday. Tara always counted down the days of the week until she was able to eat Sloppy Joe, the delightful meal.

Her mom had only waved her off up the stairs, and murmured a small explanation. “We’re having guests over.” Unfocused on her daughter, she gathered different pots and pans, grabbing different containers of ingredients off high shelves.

Tara watched silently from the banister of the stairs, glancing at the untouched Sloppy Joe buns sitting in the corner of the kitchen. “No Sloppy Joe?” She inquired with a small pout. Her mom only shook her head in answer, pouring an unnecessary amount of oil into the heated pan.

Sulking, Tara untangled her arms from the staircase banister and slowly dragged herself up the stairs. She couldn’t believe that her mom was breaking the Sloppy Joe tradition from years ago. She couldn’t remember one Friday where there wasn’t Sloppy Joe, and frankly, she didn’t want to imagine it happening today.

Once she had gotten into her room, she flung open her closet door. Better dress to impress, Tara thought, tugging softly on one of her most expensive designer dresses. Hopefully, there wouldn’t be something as messy or dirty as Sloppy Joe at dinner today.

Sloppy Joe. All of her thoughts led back to this one stuffed sandwich. But the thing that Tara didn’t understand was the reason why her mom wasn’t making Sloppy Joe, regardless of the fact that they had guests.

Last time Amber had come over on a Friday, her mom had still made some Sloppy Joe, and Amber had liked it too. Why didn’t she just make Sloppy Joe? Who cared if they had guests?

That was when it dawned on her. They must not actually know the other family very well, and her mom was trying to impress them. Deciding to be a good daughter and attempt to impress the other family, Tara slipped into the black dress, and crossed the hall to the bathroom to apply some makeup.

She leaned closer to the mirror, and pressed the cold tube of lip gloss to her lips, before deciding to wipe the sparkly goo off. They were going to eat. There was no need to apply anything to her lips.

Then she pushed the roll of mascara to her eyelashes, before thinking better of that, and scraping it off. There was no need to apply mascara either. It wasn’t like the other family was going to be intensely staring at her eyelashes.

Scowling at her dirty reflection, Tara shoved her makeup bags into the corner of the long granite counter, where the stone met the walls. Faucet running, she splashed some water in hopes of her face looking less zombie like, less like how she was feeling on the inside. As she stared at her newly damp reflection, she didn’t see much improvement.

But she knew for a fact that the natural look was the way to go, regardless of the itch she had acquired of applying eye shadow. Slowly tucking a stray hair behind her ear, she wordlessly debated between tying her hair into a bun and braiding her curly brown locks.

Deciding braids would be just classy enough to make the cut, Tara gently began tying and braiding her long hair. After she was finished with that task, she swung the braid over her shoulder, patted her dress, and matted down her wavy bangs who had drifted out of the braid due to it’s short length.

Hand on knob, she inhaled deeply, trying to calm her frayed nerves. It was just a dinner. So why did she feel so terrified?

➟➟➟➟➟

Tara should’ve known. She should’ve know that the reason her mom was trying so hard to impress was because of the Page family. Seeing Logan Bryce Page, her old childhood enemy was enough for the bile to rise to her throat’s peak.