Read Online Family Affair by Caprice Crane - Free Book Online Page A

in person?” I ask. “No, honey, we had dinner plans, you and I. Remember? Now we have a great reason to celebrate.”
    Crap
. I’m surprised I’ve forgotten. “Shoot. Did we? I thoughtwe said tomorrow, but my days all blend lately and here you are, so … great!” I smile as I rack my brain to remember if we’d actually said today. I’m still foggy with thoughts of PETCO and the loans we’ll have to apply for. “Trish? You in?”
    “A celebration dinner?” Trish raises her eyebrows. “Mom paying? Hells yeah!” At this point Trish’s dog gets jealous and starts scratching his tiny little dachshund paws against her leg, so she picks him up and pulls him into the group.
    “Did you call Brett?” Trish asks me. And there must be something in their psychic sibling connection, because as soon as the words leave her lips my cell phone rings, which snaps me out of the contemplative trance I’d slipped into as I watched Trish’s dachshund try unsuccessfully to scale her leg. They’re funny little beings, dachshunds. They seem to go from being puppies to tripping over their ears and dragging their chests on the ground. I like to assume they’re happy, but a lifetime of scraping your boobs across the pavement just doesn’t seem ideal. Then again, snails don’t mind.
    Brett’s call is still ringing on my phone. I press send. “Hello, husband.”
    “Hello, wife. Are you coming to the game?”
    Crap again
. I hear the excitement in his voice, but I’m pretty sure he’ll let me off the hook this time. I really was planning to go with him, but now with Ginny here, and Trish and I celebrating the likely PETCO deal …
    “I’m sorry, babe. Something came up. Maybe I can come late. I told your mom I’d go to dinner with her, and she’s
here
, and Trish and I—”
    “Huh,” he interrupts. Apparently, he’s angrier than I’d anticipated. He didn’t give me a chance to explain my wonderful news, and he retreats into monosyllabic answers when he’s pissed off but doesn’t want to get into it.
    “I’m sorry,” I say. “I totally forgot. You see, Trish and I—”
    “No big deal. It’ll make it that much more special if you ever
do
show up and stay for a whole game again.”
    “I have great news—” I try one last time. “Great,” he snaps. “Tell me when I get home.” He hangs up. “He hung up,” I say to Trish and Ginny.
    “Oh, sweetheart, we can do a rain check,” says Ginny. “Why don’t you go to the game?”
    “No,” I say, slamming the phone closed as though there was someone on the other end to hear it. “We’re celebrating.”
    He’s not even curious? How many times do I say I have great news? Probably never. And did he really just hang up on me?
    The second we get to the restaurant I start feeling terrible. I fumed for the whole car ride, but as soon as I get outside my own head I feel like the worst wife ever. It’s true, last week I left early and I’ve missed a few other games this year, but how many seasons of how many teams have I been there for? Considering that, I’ve been pretty dutiful. Still, this is Brett’s job, and I’m being totally unsupportive. I make a vow to myself to dig up my beak hat and get my ass into those bleachers for the next game no matter what, and quickly dial his cell-phone number to apologize.
    “This is Brett. Leave a message.”
    He’s screening me? So much for my rescue mission
.
    When I hang up the phone, Trish is giving me the look. “What?” I say defensively.
    “You
know
what,” she says. “We’re celebrating. Stop obsessing. His team will win or lose and he’ll come home and you’ll be in bed, eating cereal, wearing his boxers and his
I Fucked Paris Hilton
T-shirt.”
    “No, he
doesn’t
have a shirt that says that,” Ginny says. Trish and I both look at her, two looks that both say:
Have you met your son?
    “Brett’s been acting really weird lately,” I say. At which point the look is now directed at me:
Have you met