Free Getting Dumped by Tawna Fenske Page A

cutting Adam off. “I realized acting wasn’t really my calling, and then my mom got sick so it seemed like a good time to come back to Oregon and get a stable job with good benefits.”
    “What is it you do out there again?” Adam asked.
    “Secretary,” Pete said, without the faintest hint of self-consciousness.
    Lori stared at Adam, her eyes daring him to say something judgmental about the job. I could almost hear her mental tape deck replaying Adam’s post-high school speech about lowly jobs and the people who performed them.
    “Huh,” was all Adam said as he grabbed a slice of veggie. “Government benefits are great. You get dental?”
    “Vision, too.”
    “Yeah?”
    Adam turned toward Lori, who had been staring at him open-mouthed. “I’m sorry, did you need the pine nuts?”
    “Um, no. Thank you.”
    “More salad?” he asked, passing her the bowl.
    Lori took the salad and stared at it for a moment as though uncertain what to do with it. After seven years of holding a surprisingly strong grudge and remembering Adam as a judgmental snob, it was clear Lori had no idea what to make of this new and improved version of her ex.
    I set down my fork, finished with my pizza and certain my little sister needed rescuing. I stood up and hoisted my plate.
    “Hey, Lori, I think I’ve got the stuff to make those white chocolate apricot almond balls you like. If you’re done, you want to help? It just takes a few minutes.”
    Lori turned her blank stare toward me, probably wondering why I required the culinary assistance of someone who couldn’t differentiate a spatula from a spackling trowel.
    “Sure.”
    I pointed the men toward my living room. “You guys can turn on the TV if you want.”
    “Should we move the cat first?” Pete asked, warily eyeing Blue Cat on his perch atop the television.
    “Nope, he likes it up there,” I assured him. “It’s warm.”
    “Are his legs supposed to bend like that?”
    “He always lies that way,” I said, pausing to scratch my twenty-one pound cat stretched out like Superman in flight. “Started doing it right after he got neutered six years ago.”
    “Good to know.”
    The men filed into the living room – not so much filed as took five steps to the left – and flipped on the television. Lori joined me in the kitchen. I measured out the almonds and powdered sugar, letting Lori dump them into the food processor before I added the dried apricots.
    “How much rum?” Lori asked, holding up the bottle eagerly.
    “Only a tablespoon.”
    I watched as she doubled the amount – precisely what I expected, and the reason I’d said one instead of two. I grabbed the bottle back and handed her a bar of white chocolate.
    “Here, you add this and pulse. I’ll zest the orange.”
    I kept an eye on my sister, wondering what freak of genetics had made her an artistic soul with no culinary skill while giving me kitchen savvy and an inability to draw anything more complex than a stick figure. I knew it had something to do with my incessant need to feed people and her incessant need to outfit them in all the latest accessories.
    “Hold out your hands,” I ordered, spritzing them lightly with cooking spray before doing the same to mine.
    “They seem to be getting along well,” she whispered, peering around the edge of the cabinets at the sound of male laughter coming from the living room.
    “Great,” I murmured back. “The ex you don’t want and the hot guy who’s already taken.”
    “We know how to pick ‘em.”
    I reached into the bowl to grab a handful of sticky dough. “Here, roll it into little balls.”
    “Like this?”
    “Perfect.”
    “Gooey.”
    “Yup.”
    “Then we bake them?”
    “They’re no-bake. We chill them, remember?”
    The doorbell rang. I stared down at my hands, which were covered with cooking spray and almond paste. Lori’s looked the same, only messier.
    “Would one of you guys mind grabbing the door?” I called.
    The bell rang again.