The good snacks. The ones they never brought. The ones that somehow materialized from my grocery budget every single time.
“Annie, the meat looks a bit dry!” Juliette called from the patio. “Are you sure you’re not overcooking it?”
That evening, after they’d finally left, taking nothing but full bellies and somehow forgetting to take their trash, I found myself picking popsicle sticks out of my flower beds while Bryan loaded the dishwasher.
“Bee, your mom moved our couch again.”
“She’s just trying to help, Nini!” he replied, but I caught the apologetic look in his eyes.
“And ate $200 worth of groceries. Again.”
“I know, I know. I’ll talk to her.”
