The Seven Month Itch by Allison Rushby Read Free Book Online

I don’t know where she’s been putting all those piroshkis. If she eats any more, I’ll have to start checking the pot plants, because they’re certainly not making their way to her hips.
    Susannah takes off her cap and shakes her hair out. (Or should I say ‘luscious locks’? Is there any time of the day she’s not a man magnet? Darn foilers …) ‘Hi Vera, hi Nessa,’ she calls back. ‘Do you have any batter left?’
    Vera nods. Hard. ‘Always more batter!’
    ‘If it’s okay, I’d love just one, thanks.’
    ‘Good girl!’
    Susannah laughs. ‘I’m just going to duck off for a quick shower.’
    ‘Yes. Yes. Will keep pancakes warm.’
    ‘Thanks!’ Susannah says, as she trips off in the direction of the guest room like a lithe gazelle.
    So unfair. I never trip off anywhere like a lithe gazelle. I don’t even trip off like a lame gazelle. A blind, lame gazelle. Sigh. When my loathing eyes return to the kitchen, Vera is staring at me, and I get the feeling she might have been doing this for some time. She shakes her ladle at me. ‘Va-nessa …’
    ‘Hmmm?’
    Vera glances back to the hallway, where Susannah has just retreated. ‘The devil – he is not so frightful as he is painted.’
    I look over to the hallway myself and twist my mouth as I think about how the four days of Susannah’s stay have been so far. In all truth, not as bad as I’d been expecting. She’s okay if you’re into that bubbly-little-blonde kind of thing (which I’m definitely not), and it’s true that she and dad have been working really hard. I’m still not convinced, though – something still feels wrong about her being here and about her in general, and I’m sorry, but I’m not putting her on my best-friend list any time soon. Plus, I’m fifteen years old. I’m a teenager. It’s my right to be surlyand obstinate, isn’t it? If I change my mind about her now, it’s like I’m letting the team down.
    Vera clocks the look on my face. ‘Hmpf,’ she says, shaking her ladle at me again.
    Oh, fine. Now I’m on the receiving end of the ‘hmpf’s.
    ‘You go to the college today?’ Vera returns to her pancakes.
    ‘No,’ I reply. ‘I only work Monday and Tuesday. I worked an extra two days this week, though – Wednesday and Thursday. But I told Mrs Timmons I couldn’t work today because I’ve got to wedding-plan.’
    Vera turns once more. ‘Ah. The wedding plans. Yes. Is good?’
    I nod slightly. Actually, most of what I’m going to be doing today is kind of pointless checking and re-checking that I’ve already done, but if there’s one thing I like, it’s being in control and I don’t seem to have much control over anything else in my life at the moment. So pointless checking and re-checking is suddenly looking like it could turn out to be a whole lot of fun.
    ‘Ah, is not good?’ she asks again, picking up on my muted reaction.
    I look up at Vera to see a worried expression on her face. Now, I nod harder. ‘Don’t worry, everything’s fine.’ I glance down at my uneaten pancakes and make a quick decision: I’ll tell her about the food to keep her happy. My stomach churns slightly, thinking about the menu, but one more look at Vera’s ever-deepening wrinkles pushes me through the courses. ‘I’m going to Nico’s today,’ I say. ‘You know, to taste some of the food.’ (Like I haven’t tasted it all already. Dad, Holly, Marc and I usually eat there at least twice a week.)
    Vera claps her hands together. ‘Yes. Yes. Nico very good cook. Very good boy, I think.’
    I almost laugh at this. Good boy. Nico must be at least forty-five, but he’s a ‘good boy’ because he loves food and looks like the type who always eats everything put in front of him by his nonna. Of course, now the subject of food has been brought up, Vera’s looking so happy I can’t help but continue, whatever my stomach thinks. ‘We’re having oysters, little crispy grilled sardines, bruschetta, hand-formed pizza baked