Trouble's Brewing (Stirring Up Trouble) (17 page)

“No. Because you have charms.” I turned to Finn. “He made an amazing discovery with jumbo-sizing cans of food.”

“Yes, your mother told me,” Finn said. “She indicated that you haven’t notified the Council yet.”

“No,” Milo admitted.

“We should take care of that before you leave. I can help you file a preliminary report. I’m sure the Council will be appreciative of the inroads you’ve made. Very exciting to blend two charms.”

Milo beamed.

“I don’t think you will have time for the social experiment,” I said. “You have your own contributions to make to magic.”

“She’s right, you know,” Finn said. “You should continue to pursue these blended charms. You may have a future in research as well.”

Milo stared down at his feet as his cheeks turned pink.

“Whatever you’re talking about, it’s making Milo blush,” Mom said coming down the steps.

I shared a look with Milo and we laughed.

“No worries, Annie. We’re talking potions and charms. All business.”

“Did you three save room for dessert?”

“Always,” Milo said.

“Metabolism of a nineteen-year-old.” Finn patted his stomach.

“You can’t let the boys have all the fun. Can you, Zoe?” Mom said. “I’ll have a slice too.”

“What are we having?”

“That depends,” Mom said. “We’ll take a vote. Chocolate cake, apple pie, pumpkin pie, or ice cream. Or ice cream on one of the aforementioned. But the vote must be unanimous because we shouldn’t cut more than one.”

I knew what Milo wanted. He’d practically jumped in the air and raised his hand when he heard pumpkin pie.

“I guess we should let Dr. Finnegan choose,” Milo said.

“Call me Finn,” Finn said. “I’m sure we can reach an agreement.”

“Aren’t we saving the pumpkin for tomorrow?” I asked.

“We have plenty of pumpkin for tomorrow.”

“Well,” I said, trying to help Milo. “Grandma says not to eat chocolate late at night.”

“True,” Mom said. “She swears it causes nightmares.”

“So apple or pumpkin?” Finn asked.

“Pumpkin,” the three of us answered in unison.

“Now we need to decide—” Mom started.

“Mom! We barely got through that decision.”

“Whipped topping or ice cream on top? Everybody gets his own choice.”

We rushed into the kitchen where Mom sliced the pumpkin pie.

She handed Finn and Milo ginormous pieces.

“I shouldn’t,” Finn said. “It’s late, and I… Never mind. I have incredible metabolism.” He grinned as he piled a giant scoop of whipped topping onto his slice.

“Whatever,” Milo said. “I have the metabolism of a sixteen-year-old.”

Mom frowned at her slice of pie. Then she shrugged and said, “For the rest of us, there’s cardio.”

She ate slowly and deliberately, savoring every tiny bite. Milo and Finn got seconds. I didn’t, but only because I knew Mom wanted seconds so badly.

Tomorrow, I was saving room for two desserts.

Milo’s phone beeped.

Then Finn’s beeped.

Finn looked at his phone first. “Oh dear. It’s Anya again.”

“Anya?” I asked. “Why would she be texting you?”

“I have no idea,” Finn said. “However, I am not keen to find out.”

“How did she get your number?” I asked.

“Probably the same way she got mine,” Milo said. “She’s been texting me since last night.”

My phone. That rat had been stealing phone numbers. She hadn’t been looking through my music at all. “She had my phone.”

“What did you say to her?” I asked Finn.

“Nothing. If I don’t reply, she’s likely to deduce that she has the wrong contact information.”

Milo groaned. “I’m so doomed. I didn’t think of ignoring her.”

“Stop now. Pretend you lost your charger.” I turned to Milo in panic. “You haven’t posted on Facebook or Twitter that you’re in town, have you?”

“No,” Milo said. “I can’t believe she would cyber stalk me.”

“She totally would,” I said.

Finn’s phone beeped again. “Wrong number,” he said and took another bite of his dessert.

The next day, the eating continued. For hours and hours. We ate breakfast. Then we nabbed pieces of this and that as we helped prepare the Thanksgiving meal. Finally the food fest of Thanksgiving dinner commenced.

Milo’s parents had finally relaxed enough around Finn to behave normally, which meant that the dinner conversation was lively. At least until the L-tryptophan from the turkey kicked in and everyone started to slow down as what energy we had was diverted to digestion.

“He’s like a ninety-five-year-old man in the body of a college guy,” Milo whispered. “It’s weird.”

I smacked at his leg. “He’ll hear you,” I whispered back. “What about the other thing?”

“I think you were imagining it,” Milo said.

He didn’t think there was any flirting going on with Mom and Finn. Thank goodness. I took a deep breath and then piled more broccoli casserole onto my fork. “Everything is delicious, Mom.”

“Sure is,” Milo’s dad said.

“Annie has outdone herself,” his mother added.

Finn raised his glass. “A toast,” he said, and we all lifted our glasses on cue. “To our hostess, whose charm and beauty delight our hearts while this feast sates our hunger.”

My discomfort rose as my mother’s cheeks turned pink.

I clinked Milo’s first as we shared a look. Milo had glimpsed what I had been seeing for days.

As soon as we had escaped up the stairs, Milo and I activated my mother’s profile on the dating site.

“Now we wait for somebody to notice.”

Milo shook his head. “I hope she doesn’t hate me for my part in this.”

“She won’t.”

“If you say so.”

I glanced at my phone. “We only have an hour before Dad is picking us up.”

Milo laid back on my bed and groaned. “We have to eat again.”

“I don’t think I can.”

“Me either.”

“Maybe we should go for a walk, and burn some of it off.”

Milo nodded. “It would help.”

“We should do that then,” I said as I laid down next to him.

“Definitely.”

Neither of us got up.

“Or,” I said. “We could rest.”

“Definitely,” Milo said.

Jake knocked on the door instead of my father. I guess Dad must have felt awkward about seeing Milo’s family and Dr. Finnegan when everybody knew he had left my mother.

Milo and I were ready and waiting near the door to avoid that uncomfortable situation.

“Hi,” I said and hugged Jake tight. “We’re all set.”

“Good,” Jake said. “I’m dying to eat some of what Mom’s cooking.”

Milo grabbed his stomach, and I shuddered at the thought of food.

“Right. You guys already ate.”

“Binged is more like it,” I admitted. “You want me to grab you something to eat in the car?”

Jakes eyes lit with interest. “Anything. Except carrots. Mom’s been letting me eat veggies and dip.”

I left Milo and Jake at the door and ran for the kitchen. Yanking open the fridge, I spotted the leftover pumpkin pie from yesterday. Two slices packaged just right for eating on the run.

I grabbed the tin and dashed back to them. They weren’t talking, and each had shoved his hands in his pockets.

“Got pie,” I said and led the way to the car.

“Hey, Zoe,” Dad said as I climbed in the passenger seat.

“Happy Thanksgiving!”

“You brought pie, Zoe?”

“A snack for Jake to eat on the way,” I told him.

Jake climbed in the back seat and slammed the door. “I’m starving, Mr. Miller. Please don’t mention it to Mom.”

Dad pushed his glasses up on his nose. “Sheree would be disappointed in us.”

“Us?” Jake asked.

“Hand each of us a piece,” Dad instructed. “All right, Jake. We’re in this together. Don’t cave.”

“You have my word,” Jake said as I handed him a slice.

Dad took a big bite of his as soon as I handed it over.

“Oh man,” Jake said. “This is amazing.”

My dad’s piece disappeared in seconds. He wiped his hands and put the car in drive.

“Wow,” Milo said. “We’re so stuffed we hurt, and you guys are on empty.”

“You can eat some dinner, right?” Dad asked. “Enough to avoid insulting Sheree.”

“Yes,” I answered. “We know we have to eat some.”

“I can almost breathe normally,” Milo said. “I think I’m going to make it.”

Dad laughed at us. “We’ll try to leave Indiana inside, just in case.”

“Don’t give him any turkey though,” Jake said. “I learned that lesson the hard way.”

“No turkey,” Milo said. “Got it.”

“Sheree knows we’ve eaten, right? She doesn’t expect us to be ravenous.” I glanced at my father.

“She knows, but there was an incident earlier with the mashed potatoes, and I think she may not have full confidence in her cooking. It would be best if you two can clean your plates.”

I groaned.

“I’ll sit next to you and sneak food from your plate,” Jake said.

“Really?” Thank goodness.

“Just don’t let Sheree see you,” Dad said. “I don’t think she’d be impressed with your manners.”

“If you get Jake, then I get the dog,” Milo said.

“Just be discreet,” Dad cautioned. “How did your first meal go? Did D—Finn enjoy himself?”

“Sure,” I said.

“Too bad his girlfriend was out of town,” Jake muttered.

“Girlfriend,” Milo said with a laugh. “That would be interesting.”

“Yes, Milo. Meeting his girlfriend would be interesting,” I said. “Too bad she went out of town.”

Milo squirmed in the seat of the car. “Right. Interesting because she’s probably really hot.”

I glared. He was not making this better.

He gave me a don’t-forget-to-fill-me-in-next-time glower.

When we filed through the front door of Sheree’s house, the scent of cinnamon and nutmeg hit us hard. My first thought was more pumpkin pie. My second thought was, yum, more pumpkin pie. I was seriously starting to believe I might be able to eat again.

Sheree greeted Milo warmly. “So good to see you again.”

“Thank you for having me,” he said.

“Any friend of Zoe’s is a friend of mine,” she said. Then she rushed over to remove a casserole dish from the oven. “Now I know you’ve already eaten one meal,” she said, setting the dish on the counter. “I don’t expect you to eat much, so don’t feel pressured.”

Milo and I shared a hopeful look until Dad cleared his throat. We glanced his way to see him shake his head in a clear “no” signal. We weren’t off the hook after all. Jake snorted, and I raised my fist half-heartedly in the air as I mouthed, “Yay.”

“I don’t suppose you two kids will need to eat until at least Sunday,” Sheree joked, turning back from the stove.

“I feel that way every year,” my father said, walking over to kiss Sheree on her forehead. “And yet, I find myself raiding the leftovers by the next morning.”

Watching Dad and Sheree made my stomach cramp. I couldn’t count how many times I’d seen him kiss my mother that way. How long had he been dating Sheree? Was he truly already jumping into another family? Wasn’t it too soon?

Milo caught my eye, and I knew that he understood what I was thinking. He’d been around my parents enough to know that they had acted just like this. Until they quit being married. Until Dad left.

Jake had moved over to the casserole dish on the counter. He snagged a fork from the drawer and raised the lid. He stabbed something with the fork and whistled what I guessed he thought was casually as he scurried away from his mother.

“I saw that,” she said.

Jake grinned and popped his ill-gotten gains into his mouth.

“It’s hot, Jake,” Sheree warned.

Jake bounced on the balls of his feet, his eyes wide, and his mouth slightly open as he chewed and swallowed. “Delicious,” he said.

I couldn’t help staring.

With a self-deprecating smile, Jake took my hand in his. “I’m starving to death, remember?”

Sheree pulled a tray of rolls from the oven and handed them to Dad. Then she returned to stirring whatever was in the pot on the stove. Once Sheree turned her back, my dad held up a roll and in some sort of silent guy-bonding thing, tossed one to Jake.

Jake released my hand to catch the steaming roll. Then passed it from one hand to the other.

Abandoned for carbohydrates. I watched Jake back around the corner out of his mother’s line of sight and devour the bread.

“Is it almost ready?” I asked Sheree, hoping we could eat soon so Jake would show an interest in something other than food. Like spending time with me.

“I suppose we’d better eat before Jake gnaws off his own arm,” Sheree said. She handed my father two potholders. “If you’ll take the turkey out and set it on the platter, the kids can go sit down.”

“Can I help carry anything?” I asked.

“Good idea,” Jake whispered. “We should help. I’ll carry the rolls in.”

“Stop,” Sheree said. “Milo can carry the rolls. Zoe, could you take that casserole dish? Jake, you can carry the gravy.”

Jake groaned, and I found myself hoping he wouldn’t try drinking the gravy straight from the china gravy boat.

Milo leaned close to us, and said, “Man, if you promise not to drink the gravy, I’ll slip you another roll.”

The whole thing had gotten so ridiculous that I gave in to giggles, then to full blown laughter, and soon I laughed so hard I had to gasp for air.

My father grinned at me. “Maybe next year we’ll let him eat earlier.”

“Maybe next year, he’ll have better manners than to outbeg Indiana,” Sheree lamented.

“Where is Indiana?” Milo asked casually, and through my continuing bouts of giggles, I realized he was proceeding with our plan.

We needed the dog.

“He’s out back,” Dad said.

“I’ll get him,” I offered.

“Oh no.” Sheree shook her head. “We can’t let him in. He’ll make off with the turkey.”

“Not with Jake around,” Dad teased.

“Regardless, he stays out,” she said.

Chapter Twelve

Jake patted me and Milo on the back. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I got this.”

“I think I’m good to go actually,” Milo said, patting his stomach.