Football players are assholes. I know; I'm related to their king. My older, and annoyingly overprotective, brother Jake is the star quarterback at Santa Cruz High School. I love him but hate living in his shadow. Everyone worshiping the air he breat...
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A lovely, hot, grease-stripping shower after days of horrendous work shifts and fourteen hours of comatose sleep later, I no longer wanted to curse the world. Renewed energy sprung me out of bed Sunday morning without a care that I overslept and missed breakfast.
"Last day of summer," I groaned, heading downstairs. "And the end of my no-Jake peace."
"Ellie, that you?" Banging sounds erupted as Mom juggled a pile of mixing bowls. Half the counters were buried in familiar ingredients.
I greeted her with, "Ugh, not chicken parm already."
One of her best recipes was chicken parmesan. It served with steamed broccoli was the only dinner Jake ate during the season. Being defending state champs, I expected a repeat from the creature of habit.
"Don't give me that look." She set her bowls on the counter. "Meatballs first, then chicken parm."
I wasn't aware I gave her a look, but before I answered, her eyes rounded, and she gaped at me. "What?"
Her hands clutched her apron, and her eyes welled up with tears. Before I moved, her palms smooshed my cheeks until I had fish lips. "I can't believe it. My baby is so grown. Only yesterday you were my little tripping hazard who banged wooden spoons on pots and pans and refused to wear shirts because you got them too messy."
My nose scrunched up. Seriously? That's where her mind went?
"Let me have my sad mom moment." She sniffled and dropped my face.
Sad mom moment. Fine. Subject change time. I rounded my mouth back into its normal position. Jake's absence prompted me to ask, "Where's Jake?"
"On his way," she replied and grabbed her largest bowl. "We tried to wake you to say hi when he called, but you were dead to the world."
I wasn't at all bothered by that because sleep. "I'm sure his fan club will throw a parade once he's back."
"Hush," she scolded with a smile. "He's under a tremendous amount of pressure."
I knew that repeat state championship expectations rode on Jake's shoulders. He projected an air of welcoming the challenge but he spent extra time practicing and conditioning in summer camps. Between his focus on football, his crazy ex, and my shitty job, I hadn't seen him until his muscles seemed to double overnight.
Ugh, and now he's single. Insert girl obsessions.
I washed my hands and dried them on the back of my jeans. Hopefully, no one at school found out that Jake could cook. If girls didn't fall apart at the sight of him enough already, that would spring leaks in their vaginas.
Mom shoved her bowl to me, filled with raw ground beef and pork. I added brown sugar and Italian seasonings while her knife rocked, chopping onions in fluid waves. Since I could make this recipe in my sleep, I didn't measure the basil, oregano, parsley, and garlic powder before adding them. "Dad's closing tonight," she murmured with a head shake. "End of the month, you know."
