Read Jeneration X: One Reluctant Adult's Attempt to Unarrest Her Arrested Development; Or, Why It's Never Too Late for Her Dumb Ass to Learn Why Froot Loops Are Not for Dinner for Free Online Page B

them earlier today.”
    “How many pies are there?” He leans deeper in the fridge and begins to count. “Seven? We have seven pies! For nine adults and three children. Does that seem right to you?”
    “Why, is that not enough? I’m also making a cake.”
    The expression he’s wearing tells me everything I need to know about my ability to do dessert math. We pack all the boxes back into the dry ice they arrived in, then place them in coolers on the back deck, with zip ties adding an extra measure of security against rats. In holidays past, my mother used to store all our leftovers on the hood of the car in the garage, so my dad’s vehicle always had little dings on it from the Pyrex bowls of unwanted fat-free stuffing. Fletch threatens me with an untimely death if I try to do the same to his car, so deck it is.
    I still make a cake, though, because you just never know.

    Stacey’s been here next to me, working through lunch and now dinner. We’ve been ass-deep in pans and pies and potato peels and plungers. [
Here’s a fun fact—don’t put potato peels in the garbage disposal unless you like having mung water back into every sink on the first floor after they’ve already been cleaned in anticipation of the big day. Also, invest in a wet-dry vac. Trust me on this one.
]
    “It’s so hard. Why is it so hard?” I cry as I use a floury hand to wipe my sweaty brow.
    Stacey, covered in bread crumbs and homemade cream of mushroom soup splatters, is almost too shell-shocked to answer. She rocks a little when she finally replies. “Time and action plan meant for many days, not one day. Not one day. Never one day.”
    “Maybe we should have some pie to help us along?” I suggest.
    “No pie. Just finish. Just finish. See vampires. Just finish.”
    I hug her briefly before continuing to peel my butternut squash over the open garbage can. Peels are falling all over the previously clean floor and at this point, I don’t care.
    I just want to be done.
    I just want to sit down.
    I just want to share the magic of
Twilight
with Stacey.
    I just want us to watch Bella make out with her creepy, stalker boyfriend who, really, should be arrested on statch charges because she’s seventeen and he’s what, at least a hundred years old?
    I just want her to roll her eyes with me over the wooden performances and stilted dialogue, despite still secretly wanting to hug myself afterward because I love all of it so much.
    And as soon as the butternut soup is set to simmer, we can do this. Fletch has the DVD cued up and everything.
    We still have to get through peeling and de-seeding the mountain of squash before we can sauté the chunks with onion and butter. After everything softens up, we have to use an immersion blender to break the squash into small bits and mix it with the pumpkin, and then we’ll make it extra creamy and smooth via chinois strainer before we can add the cream and nutmeg.
    I steal little bites of everything during the cooking process and am confident that this dish is going to kick off the dinner in the most delicious fashion possible.
    We need to let the soup cool before we put it away, and now the plan is to grab something to drink and finally get off our feet.
    “Stace, you want some wine? I have an open bottle of some decent Chardonnay.”
    “If I have one glass, I’ll pass out and die. How about some water?”
    I go over to the cabinet next to the stove to retrieve a glass. Because we’ve been extremely conscientious about not having to work around dirty dishes, we’ve been vigilant about unloading the dishwasher and thus, our undersized glass cabinet is stacked a bit too tightly.
    It’s stacked so tightly, in fact, that when I open it, one of my favorite juice glasses falls out and breaks on the countertop.
    Right next to the uncovered pot of soup.
    And when I say “break,” I don’t mean a couple of big chunks that could be reassembled. I mean, smashed, pulverized, exploded, stomped on like a