Free A & L Do Summer by Jan Blazanin Page B

card.”
    â€œI don’t think Hallmark has come up with those yet.”
    The back door opens and Dad heads straight to the coffee pot. The remains of his hair look like a helicopter landing zone. He fills his #1 DAD mug to the brim and gulps. “Ah! The fluid of life!”
    I channel my mental powers into sending Dad back outdoors. “What smells so good?” He zeros in on Manny’s omelet. “Hey, where did that come from?”
    â€œMom made it for him—with the last three eggs.”
    Dad thinks that over, probably trying to figure out when Mom quit nagging him long enough to throw an omelet together. Then he shrugs and pulls out the chair beside Manny. “How about splitting your breakfast with the old man?”
    Manny shovels another bite into his mouth. “Aspen said you guys already ate.”
    Dad cocks his head at me, no doubt wondering about the breakfast we didn’t eat together. Since I don’t know the signal for, “I’m playing a practical joke on Manny so don’t mess me up,” I just nod and smile.
    â€œSo what?” Dad finally says. “It won’t kill you to spare a few bites, seeing as how I’ve been busting my hump getting things ready for you.”
    â€œOkay,” Manny says with a pained sigh. “After I take a couple more bites you can have the rest.” He digs his fork into the center of the omelet, chops off about half of it, and crams the huge chunk into his mouth.
    How could I have doubted my brother’s greed?
    As Manny begins to chew, my fingers tiptoe across the table to my cell phone. My first snap captures the moment when his eyes bug at the first hit of Pepto and Tabasco. And there’s the stomach-clutching and gagging that might or might not have come from the minty taste of Tums. Of course, I don’t miss the “I’ll kill you” glare in his eyes just before he dashes to the downstairs bathroom. I consider trying for a bathroom shot, but that might be taking it too far.
    Dad laces his fingers across his stomach and studies Manny’s half-empty plate. “So I probably shouldn’t eat the rest of that omelet?”
    â€œI wouldn’t recommend it.”
    He shakes his head. “That’s too bad. I was really hungry for one.”
    â€œI’ll make you one next Saturday.”
    â€œSame ingredients?” he asks.
    â€œNot exactly.”
    â€œGlad to hear it.” Dad goes to the coffeepot and refills his mug. “You’ll clean up the kitchen before your mother comes in?”
    â€œSpic and span.”
    â€œThat’s one of the reasons you’re my favorite daughter.”
    â€œAnd you’re my favorite dad.”
    We both stop to listen to Manny retching in the bathroom.
    Dad nods in that direction. “Senior parties are rough on the stomach. Might have to clean that up, too.”
    I smile. “That’s okay.”
    Dad smiles back. “Well, once more into the breach.” With a resigned sigh, he closes the door behind him.
    As I dump the remains of Manny’s omelet into the disposal, I catch myself humming.
    The afternoon weather is nauseatingly perfect—blue sky, gentle breeze, birds singing in three-part harmony. Any minute I’m expecting a carload of A-list celebrities to cruise by and decide to stop in for refreshments. That’s the kind of luck Manny has.
    Speaking of which, he looks way too good for a guy who was blowing his intestines into the john three hours ago. Just before the party, he corners me in the upstairs hall. “That omelet was kick-ass. It knocked the alcohol out of my system in three minutes flat,” he says. “I’ve never felt this good after a night of drinking.”
    â€œNaturally. It’s the number-one hangover cure on the Internet,” I bluff, keeping my arms crossed over my midsection. Experience has taught me never to leave my diaphragm unprotected. “I knew