Page 43 of Recipe for Rivals
“It’s almost April.”
I raised my eyebrows.
She couldn’t see me, but I sensed she understood my question. “Or maybe you’ll move back. Have you talked to your parents?”
“Blair,” I said, drawing out the word and taking her off speaker. “I can’t think about that yet.”
“We miss you.”
“I know. I miss you too—not just you, but home, all of it. But it’s been good for all of us to get out of there. You know how people talk. Trish called me up last week and told me Carter was out with some redhead.” I swallowed, lowering my voice. A quick glance proved the kids were still in their room, but it was better to be careful. “It’s been hard coming here. Maybe if I’d had a better option, I would have stayed. But I think the distraction of a new home has been good, too. I wouldn’t want to hear about Carter’s new girlfriends every time I went to a PTA meeting.”
Blair swore. “I can’t believe she called to tell you that. Stupid cow.”
“She also paid me three hundred bucks for a bunch of cookies,so I don’t hate her.” Five dozen cookies that arrived in New York yesterday mostly in good order. There were only a few casualties, according to Trish.
“Okay, fine. I half-hate her.”
“Blair.”
“I’m allowed to,” she said. “There is literally no reason to tell you who Carter is seeing unless she wants gossip or she’s trying to hurt you.”
Something unsettling nestled in my gut, but I was afraid to voice it aloud.
Blair remained silent.
“What do you know?” I asked.
“Nothing,” she said firmly. “Absolutely nothing, except I really don’t like Trish.”
“You’ve never liked Trish.”
“Now I feel justified in that.” She blew static into the phone. “I’m Team Nova, okay? Whatever you need, I’m here for it. Want me to light Carter’s building on fire? Done. Key his car? Done.”
“He doesn’t have a car.”
“Want me to leave a flaming pile of?—”
“No,” I said, laughing. “I need to go.”
“Please send me pictures of that boy playing football. I need to see this for myself.”
“You got it. Give my brother a hug and squeeze my nephews.”
“Done.” She blew a kiss and we both hung up.
Ben appeared in the kitchen, his brown eyes eager and his blond hair—like always—in disarray.
“Ready?” I asked, my love for him swelling in my chest.
He nodded.
“Let’s go.”
They lost the game,but you wouldn’t know it by looking at Ben’s face. He beamed, his cheeks flushed and brown eyes glimmering. Alice and I were bundled in sweaters and coats and wrapped in flannel blankets. We were sitting on the cold metal risers on the side of the football field when Ben found us, a blue Gatorade in one hand and a bag of goldfish in the other.
“Did you see me?” he asked, looking for confirmation.
I pulled him tightly against me, enveloping his cold nose in my swath of layers. “You were amazing.”