Page 13 of Haunt the Mall
“We’ll see.” He let me go inside first, then closed the door behind us.
Wiping my boots on the woven multicolor rug, I glanced at the dining room table. Place settings had replaced the usual array of binders and pens. “Where’s Tori?”
“Upstairs.” Dad tapped on the banister, then shouted, “Girls, dinner.”
“Be right there,” Tori called.
Mom poked her head out of the kitchen. “Jennifer said she’s going to be late.”
“Okay.” I crossed my arms. No big loss there.
Mom wrinkled her nose. “Just as well. The smell of spinach would probably make her nauseous. Jim, help me here.”
I stepped forward. “I can—”
“Don’t be silly. Go sit.” She shooed me away.
As Dad slipped by her, he gently cupped her elbow. She squeezed his arm and smiled. Part of me wanted to congratulate them on thirty years of adorable mediocrity, but that’d be mean. At least they were happy.
Tori padded down the stairs with a toddler’s focus as if each step was important. Upon seeing me, she lit up. “Kat.”
“How’s my favorite future RN?” I squeezed her in a side-hug, her oversized jacket flapping against our legs.
“Fine.” She wrapped her arm around my waist as we walked to the dining room table. “Although bio chem might kill me.”
I grinned and sat in my usual place. “Will you still talk to me via Ouija?”
“No Ouija in this family,” Mom ordered, walking in with a giant bowl of pasta and Dad.
“No, we wouldn't want to do anything out of the ordinary,” I mumbled. Five minutes in my childhood home, and I was regressing to a moody teen. The pasta had barely hit my plate before they started in on the questions, our silverware screeching against the plates.
“How’s work?” Dad asked.
I shrugged and twirled my fork. “Good. The dynamic is still shifting, but I know how to run everything.”
Dad nodded. “You’re not their friend anymore, you’re their manager.”
The monster in my chest squirmed at the implication. “I know. Way to be blunt.”
“She did organize a team-building activity,” Tori chimed in.
Mom beamed. “Oh, that’s wonderful. What did you do?”
“We saw a movie,” I said.
Her enthusiasm dimmed. “There’s not much talking during those, is there?”
“No, but there is before and after. It’s more of a shared experience,” I said. Based on my parents’ wordless glances, they didn’t get the appeal. I waved my knife around in exasperation. “We talk all day. It was a relief.”
Mom thinned her lips and busied herself with her meal. “Which movie did you see?”
“The Widow.” I wagged my brows. “It was amazing.”
“It sounds kind of scary,” Mom said.
I scoffed and scooped some spinach. “Our store doesn’t mind scary things. Or creepy. Shockingly enough, we sell more hardcore stuff than pony onesies.”
Tori nudged my arm. “Do you still want a movie buddy?”