Peyton Church is a city girl by anyone's standards. Born and raised in New York City, she grew up wanting for nothing. She attended the most prestigious preparatory schools, shopped on Fifth Avenue, dined with the rich and famous and was adored by...
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I SLAM THE front door behind me with as much frustration and irritation I have kept bottled up inside of me all day. I slam it so hard I swear I feel the foundations of this tiny, dumpy little house quake.
So does my mom, apparently.
"Well, should I ask how your day was or should I take your assault on our innocent door as an answer?"
I flinch, just the tiniest bit as the door opens behind me and I turn to face my rather pissed off little brother.
"Ow!" He cries dramatically, eyes narrowing into a glare fixed in my direction.
Mom rounds the corner from the kitchen then, complete with an apron wrapped around her waist and hands on her hips. "Peyton Mackenzie Church! Did you just slam the door on your brother?!"
I glance over my shoulder at Jayden, checking him quickly for any sign of injury or death, and shrug when I realize there's no visible damage. "I totally forgot he was behind me."
"I was literally talking to you the whole time!" He whines.
"Honestly, I've spent sixteen years perfecting the art of tuning you out Jay. Looks like it's paid off."
Before Jayden and I can launch into an all out verbal war, our mom holds up a hand and sighs. "Enough, you two. If you could refrain from killing one another for the next hour, I've spent half the afternoon preparing dinner. Whose hungry?"
Without a word, Jayden and I both leave our bags, shoes and jackets by the door and brush past our mom into the kitchen. As I pass her, I smile and give her a kiss on the cheek.
As we enter the kitchen, Jayden and I are both surprised by the familiar face already sitting at the kitchen table.
"Yaya?" I sputter in disbelief, shoving past Jayden and wrapping my arms around our only grandparent.
"Oh, Peyton, kopelia, it's so nice to see you again," she tuts, her soft accent comforting me as she gave me a tight squeeze of a hug. "Oh, and you too, Jayden. I'm so happy you're both here now," she smiles, squeezing Jayden against her next.
If I didn't know better, I might say that our mother had brought in reinforcements to convince us we should be happy here. Or, more likely, to convince me to quit complaining, since Jayden appeared to be more compliant with the whole "spontaneously moving across the country" thing.
But I do know better. My grandmother, our mom's mom, only got to see us about once a year for Christmas. Otherwise, we spoke to her on the phone for birthdays and got the odd novelty postcard sent to us. Her husband, our Pappous, had passed away three years ago from cancer, and she's lived alone ever since. Mom had offered to bring her to New York to stay with us, but she'd stubbornly refused, saying her life and her friends were here in Rock Valley.
