Free Twisted Sisters by Jen Lancaster

have this casserole
     I thought you might want.”
    Trevor snatches the container out of my hands. “Sweet! What flavor?”
    “Turkey tetrazzini made with canned soup.” I shudder involuntarily at the idea of
     the preservative-laden, gray-mushroomed, goo-topped noodles.
    “Thanks, playa! Did you make it for us?”
    “My mother brought it over. She knows I’m a pescatarian and yet she insists on bringing
     me a dish made with
turkey
.”
    He angles his head, looking down at me. “Thought you were Catholic.”
    I weep for this generation.
    “Lapsed. And ‘pescatarian’ means I don’t eat anything but fish. So turkey? No. No
     way. I’m sure it’s not organic, pasture-raised, antibiotic-free turkey, either. Whatever’s
     cheapest at the Jewel? That’s what she used.”
    His whole face lights up. “Badass! How cool is it that she makes you dinner and then
     takes the time to drop it off? You have the best mom in the world, son!”
    That’s his takeaway from this situation? Here she completely disrespects my lifestyle
     choice and he thinks it’s “badass”?
    I point out, “Your mother pays your rent.”
    He rotates his head and I can hear the vertebrae in his neck popping. “Yeah, and I
     appreciate that. But anyone could write a check. It takes, like,
commitment
to make a dinner. I mean, my mom’s my best friend, but she never learned to cook
     for me. That’s love.”
    Yeah,
love
.
    Or passive-aggressive.

CHAPTER FIVE
    Big Time
    For the sake of the show’s continuity, DBS is leasing space from Wendy, so our offices
     are still in the South Loop WeWIN studio. We’ll continue to film audience segments
     here, too.
    I find a seat in the back of the conference room and set my purse down on an adjacent
     chair, saving a spot for Deva. As I settle in, I notice there’s a steady buzz of conversation,
     and it all seems to be centered around the same topic.
    “Where’s the fruit tray?”
    “Probably with the croissants. Which is to say, not here.”
    “Seriously? No one stocked the Keurig machine? Seriously?”
    “I’m starving! Are the sandwiches coming soon?”
    For the first time in
Push
staff history, the credenza behind the conference table is not groaning under the
     weight of all manner of treats—muffins, scones, bagels, doughnuts, cookies, cream
     cheeses, an assortment of nut butters, six kinds of juices, platters of fresh fruit,
     sandwich fixings, and ice baths brimming with boxed salads, yogurt, kefir, and individual
     servings of cottage cheese. In fact, there’s not a morsel anywhere. Personally, I’m
     fussy about my food’s origin, so I had a spinach salad and some hummus before I arrived
     and
I’m
fine, but still, it’s odd not to see the usual spread.
    “What are people going to have for lunch?” I say, more to myself than to anyone around
     me.
    “Whatever they buy for themselves,” says a masculine voice behind me. I whirl around
     to see an attractive man, maybe in his mid- to late thirties, leaning against the
     wall. I don’t recognize him, but there are some new faces here. A few of the
Push
staff opted for the contract buyout, and a couple went to the scripted-television
     division, so we’re an equal mix of old and new. Yet outside of the lights/camera/sound
     guys, we don’t have a ton of male employees, so I’d definitely have seen him before
     if he were a returning staffer.
    This particular gentleman is a shade over six feet tall, deeply tanned, with an almost
     imperceptible smattering of gray at his temples blending in with his short blond waves.
     The brown eyes are an unexpected twist. I’m normally a fan of light eyes/darker hair,
     like Sebastian, but I could see how others would find him handsome. He’s broader than
     Sebastian, too. (All that biking and volleyball keeps Seb on the lean side.) My point
     is there’s something decidedly rugged and outdoorsy about him, and I wouldn’t be surprised
     to find, say, a kayak strapped to the roof of his