Mistakes, Fried Chicken and Unlucky Mermen

by Rochelle Pearson

  Uncle Liam went ham, sausage and Bolognese on the instrument. On his knees with his head thrown back, he had the audience eating out of his paws. As usual, I thought, smiling a little. Lucas glued to my side, I weave through people. My intentions were to grab an apron, clock in, and sit Lucas somewhere, possibly in the back office, but we were intercepted by Ma.

  “Pumpkin.” She nudges me in a corner, away from the hostess podium. She looks disturbed. Not the result of Uncle Liam. She seems to be the only one able to tolerate his truly... unique... vocal skills.

  “What’s up?”

  “Well...” She wrings her wrists, then pulls out her cell phone. A few taps to it, she faces it towards me. Before I ask what she’s getting at, I’m staring at a text message thread.

  A group thread.

  “You underwent quite the message frenzy last night. Do you mind explaining this, young lady?” she says, handing it to me.

  Scrolling, I encountered numerous... confessions?

  “Uh, oh.”

  All lies I’d told when I was younger and apparently, the Viper Spit, caused me to reveal. Some I’d forgotten. And some were so ridiculous, I giggled outright causing Ma to frown deeper.

  The last was about how I’d framed my brother, Devin for stealing the minivan—which I did to secretly meet my boyfriend at the time. I could’ve run to him on foot but it was extra muggy that night and the van was equipped with wonderful air conditioning. I’d accidentally driven over quite a few potholes. They tore up the tires.

  Nothing to do now but smile and apologize.

  “Sorry?” I hadn’t meant for it to come out as a question. Sorry, I got cosmically plastered and diarrhea-texted shit I had committed years ago. Ma wasn’t amused.

  “Try again, and you’ll need to be fast.”

  Her sharp tone was confusing. What I’d admitted wasn’t earth shatteringly terrible. “I don’t see what the big deal is.”

  “IT’S A BIG DAMN DEAL TO ME!” yelled a very pissed off male voice. My body did an automatic cringe. A rough tap jolted my shoulder. Angry wolfy waves blasted my back like a sudden crash of ocean water. This really wasn’t turning out to be a good day.

  I faced Devil Motherfucker.

  A.k.a. my third oldest brother, Devin. His natural deep purple eyes burn gold then flash red. It makes for a disturbingly obvious sign for whenever he wants to rip one of our heads off.

  Exhibit A—Devin.

  His dark-haired head stood a few feet above mine. What I lack in height, I make up in... um... fuck. I guess, a lot of indecisiveness, foolery and dreams of one day discovering a waterfall made entirely of chocolate.

  Devin snapped his fingers.

  “Earth to furball!”

  “What the hell is your problem?” I smack his hand away. He growls. A step forward, he causes me to step back. Dammit, I hate showing weakness.

  Says the girl who’ll sell her limbs for a chicken rotisserie.

  Ma became further worried—if that’s possible. She already looked about ready to burst. Other Lovell siblings gather around us, witnessing whatever showdown will soon erupt as red slowly rises into Devin’s face like a thermometer.

  Yet I’m just standing here, cool as a cucumber in winter

  Ignorance truly is bliss.

  Lucas reappears with a buffalo wing behind Ma. Tyler, the eldest and ball busting peacemaker, joins, folding beefy arms.

  “What’s going on?” he asks. Devin hisses, his attention never leaving me.

  “That’s what I asked numbnuts here, already,” I say.

  “You know I was one of the recipients in the group message, right?” Devin says. Thick fangs grew to his bottom lip. I sigh, bored. I should be clocked in by now—regaining an ounce of normalcy today. Not engaging in my brother’s hissy fit.

  “Spell recipient,” I remark and as I thought, Devil Motherfucker’s eyes widen, stuttering.

  “R—e, oh, screw you!”

  “Watch it, Dev,” Austin, the second oldest, warns. The youngest, the triplets—Josh, Jonas, and James join too. All avoid looking at me expect Jonas who for a minute does a throat cutting gesture while glaring at me. I guess that’s acceptable given I had revealed I was the reason why he’d woken up one morning when he was seven with a bald patch.

  The toy industry should really draw up a warning saying it’s not safe to put wind up hamsters on little boy’s heads. Hair caught in tiny wheels is just annoying and too time consuming to cut out.

  Bonnie and Tammy, our big sisters watched from afar.

  It’s a good thing the Grill has other staff working to serve customers. Though I felt the public’s eyes in every direction. Splendid. Once again, the Lovells provide entertainment.

  “Can someone get to the fucking point?” I snap. “So what? I confessed a bunch of mischief and lies. I lie all the time. That’s nothing new. Can we get over it?”

  “Not this time,” Devin says. “Ma and Pops thought I was the one who took the minivan,” he explains.

  “Yeah, so? Of course they did. I framed you.” That’s the point of covering your tracks in a crime. I did an ironclad job, making sure all arrows pointed directly to him. Ma’s apologetic expression was starting to make sense. She had sentenced the wrong man.

  “No shit. I was grounded for a whole month.” He shoves an index finger a meter from my nose. Gods, it smelled like ranch dressing. “A whole damn month as a prisoner in my room—which I had to share with Uncle Liam when he came to visit. Thirty days of listening to creepy stories about his past conquests and enduring sauerkraut burps.”

  “HEY, BOY!” Liam shouted across the restaurant. “AIN’T NOTHING CREEPY ABOUT THAT FEISTY CHEETAH HONEY I SHAGGED!” He laughs into the mic. “I TELL YA! THAT ONE HAD A SET OF LEGS!”

  “Hush up, Liam!” Ma snaps. I fake a yawn.

  “Wow, it sounded like you had a lovely time. Are we done here?” I ask Devin.

  “Kokoa...” James shakes his head. Eyes bugging. A silent warning to cool it. Devin continues.

  “When I wasn’t allowed out with my friends during those weekends, I missed a gig with my band,” he says, angrily. I know about that and old guilt prickles my chest. He was the bass guitarist to small group called Howling Hooligans in high school. They were seniors who generated quite the popularity and weren’t that bad. That night he was missing and replaced, the crowd ended up loving the new guy more and Devin never returned. Guilt in full swing, I really had no problem begging for forgiveness—which was waaaay overdue. At the time, I kept it to myself and instead ate the feelings away with a dozen donuts.

  As fear bubbled watching Devin vibrate, a tell he’s close to shifting, I had an even more terrible feeling I’m missing something big.

  “What happened?” I ask in a tiny voice, afraid for what I caused.

  “Funny, a coincidence occurred, I was scrolling their Twitter and saw several music award shows were happening and what do ya know?” He shrugs his shoulders. “A group of guys who looked really familiar are to attend the United Kingdom show to receive an award for an album that went platinum overseas.”

  Tyler and Austin dropped their heads, hiding grim faces.

  “You can imagine how puzzled I was. Could it really be them?” Devin addresses the now dead silent restaurant. “Huh? Anyone? Were these really the same guys that I played with in school and who also chucked me aside and never looked back?” He faced me again. “Turns out they were. I’d assumed by now they’d broken up. But obviously they didn’t. So what, they changed the name, and are The Howlers now, but I was there years ago practicing in Toby’s fucking garage alongside them every afternoon. Now they’re big time! With my replacement.” Devin pauses, chest heaving and me shrinking smaller and smaller. “After some digging, turns out, Kokoa, in that particular gig I missed sat a music producer who was out looking for new upcoming talent.”

  I shut my eyes. Damn.

  “Yeah, thanks to you, I missed out on an opportunity to become famous, schmooze in VIP s
ections with celebrities and have my own fan club.” His glare was sweltering. “I was this close to having my face on giant ass posters and hung in the rooms of hot girls all across the globe. This close.”

  “Devin I—”

  “Nope. I don’t wanna hear it.” He exhales heavily. The anger escapes with it, leaving behind a hurt brother that cracks open my heart. “You’ve done some fucked up crap before, Kokoa. Many times. And I know who would’ve guessed a hijacked minivan could turn into not being a super star. But for once, I wished you’d been mature and thought about your actions and who it may affect.”

  Ouch. “Devin.” I reach out, but he evades, shaking his head and walks away. My family and customers watch him leave then stare at me. Hurt for him. Mad at me. Whispering, and pointing.

  Lucas speaks.

  “Is this a bad to time mention I actually listen to The Howlers and have a t-shirt with the new bass player’s face on it?”

  We stare at him.

  “Never mind, I’ll... keep that to myself.” He quickly ducks out.

  Dad enters. “Liam, how about another banjo solo?” he says, and successfully gets people back to enjoying their food and socializing again. He spared me one last disappointing look. No one’s my number one fan now. Nor will they ever be for a while. Ma suggests I take the day off.

  Suggest, highly recommend, whatever, I take it.

  I walk into the sunlight, thinking I don’t deserve its warmth; a personal rain cloud will suffice. Lucas slings an arm around my shoulders.

  “On the bright side, you have all your fingers.”

  Yeah. Thank gods for silver linings.

  Chapter Five

  Me and Lucas—the troubled twosome trek it to tantalizing treats.

  Hey, I know that was cheesy, but give me lame credits for trying to cheer myself up.

  Hopefully, scarfing down cupcakes at Sweet Suffering works better. Hell, that’s why they exist—to become the very medicine, and welcoming addiction, to fix inner turmoil.

  I try hard to ignore the fast and hard guilt-ridden winds that whip inside me, casted from a pity hurricane. It rages on while Lucas does his part of lifting the ol’ spirits by making jokes but reality and its sucky presence, hang low—We may have slept together. We may have beaten a mobster in poker and taken his gold. I am most definitely a horrible sister. Surely, a horrible friend for leaving Gavin’s mansion the way I did and not confronting the situation.

  This whistles loudly through my ears.

  I need to focus on getting things smoothed with Lucas first, get a handle on our mistakes.

  Mistakes—with an s.

  A bell dings as we enter the cupcake shop, enriched in soft, pastel colors with swirling vanilla-scented air in its capacity. In part, it’s also a cafe accommodating people to stay and eat in snug booths and round tables. Here and my favorite breakfast spot, Skully’s, are my sanctuary. They’ve seen me many times through troubled situations.

  Clearly, I’m trying to avoid blatantly endorsing food being the correct choice to make all your shit go away. Not a great message to the kiddos.

  Still the waning lunch hour, Sweet Suffering gracefully handles the crowd who need a shot of sugar to get through the rest of the day. The line stops short by the door. Lucas points to a vacated booth, its occupants just leaving. I tell him to order one of each special. Whatever it is. I don’t mind. Seraphina, an angel, bakes anything beautifully. I descend on the booth and brush leftover crumbs off the wooden table. After, I take a minute, dropping my head back against the booth seat, closing my eyes, and let the surrounding busy ambiance drown me. Sinking in the comfortable bench, savoring its cool temperature against my thighs—a more pleasant feeling than the growing heat outside.

  Like quicksand, my mind slowly falls—there’s nothing I can possibly contemplate further while I wait for Heidi’s call.

  Just wait.

  And keep falling—

  “Kokoa?” A female voice rouses my eyes open. Standing across me is a vampire. Veronica, the mate of Piper’s older brother. She holds a box of cupcakes and her baby son on her hip. Evan, the growing fast hybrid, who Piper and I would babysit every now and then. He waves a pudgy hand and smiles, showing one fang.

  Veronica’s red eyes take in my state—a slouched woman, sitting alone in a booth.

  “Are you okay, dear?”

  “Yeah, I’m waiting for my friend.” I point to Lucas who’s close to the counter. Veronica nods, though remains wary.

  “You sure?”

  I shrug. “Nothing that a cupcake and I hug won’t fix.” I laugh lightly. At that, Evan reaches for me, making grabbing hands. His mama passes him to me and I get that hug. Baby embraces sooth the heart and soul. Evan lays his green curly head on my shoulder while I gently squeezed his small body.

  “Your heart rate has steadied, exceptionally,” Veronica muses, cocking a hip. “Something was bothering you. If you need to talk about it, I have no problem listening. Evan and I were just headed home.”

  I begin to say it’s nothing—nothing. I want to down load on her—but stop and ask a question instead.

  “Do you happen to know any info about Sammy...?” I discreetly glance around and continue in a whisper. “Sammy Three Fingers?”

  The vampire arches a brow, a suspicious expression etches into her pale, dark features. Being the mate of a man who has knowledge of good and bad business dealings on Grimstone—like Adrian—and is immersed herself just the same, she’d know exactly who I’m talking about.

  “The details I have share identical conclusions—stay away from the leprechaun.” The older woman gives me an all too familiar pointed, warning look.

  You are edging towards bad territory, missy.

  Too late.

  “I will tell you this; word has surfaced Sammy has halted all activity. Before his black out a rumor spread he’d been caught in a bind with a merman. Keeland makes it a note to keep tabs on men like Sammy, an insurance to stay clear of him and his people. The word came about recently.”

  “How recent?” A shiver rocks my spine. Evan feels it and nuzzles my neck.

  “Early this morning. I did not further ask, since it doesn’t directly concern my family nor my and Keeland’s business. Though I’m sure some folks are happy for the break in dirty work being conducted behind closed doors.”

  The conversation ends there because an odd sensation pinches my gut and can’t ask more. I hand Evan back to her. She gifts another “watch it” glance but voices to call her if I need her then leaves.

  Now, why would Sammy stop doing what he loves?

  Had he gone on vacation, having left the island? Or had something recently happened that requires his sole attention?

  Like two delinquents, one a merman, outsmarting his cheating game and walked off with a shiny pot of priceless souvenirs?

  Something that’s never happened before.

  Crap.

  “Ready for a sugar hit?” Lucas says, sliding in the opposite seat, and divides artfully decorated cupcakes on pink napkins.

  Let the cakes control you, and not the fear that begins to surface again.

  Right. I sip at the ice coffee Lucas also got. We each get three cupcakes—new recipes I hadn’t tried before. That’s how it goes here. New creations are crafted every day, a graced special for sweet lovers. Each more bizarre than the last. In front of me, sitting in gold foil and labeled are: Limbs Galore, Pumpkin Carcass, and Gutted, a deadly theme that I can’t wait to sink my fangs into.

  Limbs Galore is a chocolate cake with peach, flesh tone icing and topped with little body parts made of fondant. Lucas pops an arm in his mouth and winks. I laugh, un-foiling Pumpkin Carcass and take a ginormous bite. Its spiced pumpkin-flavored breading fuses with rich vanilla frosting and candy corn pieces. I bite down on those along with pumpkin inners and seeds—making up its namesake. Gutted was disturbing to look at it—crafted entirely to look like a belly that’s been sliced open. Ribbons of red and pink icing spurted
out the gash and plum jam oozed when squishing the brown sugar cake.

  While eating, you’d assume I would divulge the convo about Sammy to Lucas. Not happening yet. It’ll spoil goody time.

  I’ve fudged up enough people, so I’ll wait till we’re done plus several minutes after. That way tummies can have their cupcake moments. The only thing that is spoken is appreciation of how scrumptious they are. A few “mms” are thrown in. At one point, I break to breathe and check my phone. Before leaving the cabin, I called Heidi on it, following I was plagued with low service. I waved it around, pleading for more bars, and hoping I hadn’t missed Heidi’s call.

  None.

  I avoid looking through last night’s family group thread. I delete it and the trouble embedded in each outgoing text.

  Nothing in the inbox—well, nothing new until I stick the phone higher in the air then it buzzes constantly—bringing in a load of new texts.

  I see who they’re from, and just like that, the universe itself sours cupcake time.

  29 NEW MESSAGES.

  (19) VAMP MAN

  (10) THE ASS COLLECTOR

  Gavin and Adrian. A little tape recorder icon blinked in the top corner.

  (13) NEW VOICEMAILS.

  All from Gavin—earning him the winner of most missed messages.

  My thumb twitches, accidentally hitting Adrian’s message slot. I’m met with his last sent message inside a green chat bubble.

  >Your silence is not amusing. I’m disappointed, given how expressive you were last night at Chambers. CALL ME.

  Apparently, the theme of the day is what the hell Kokoa has done last night. I refuse to conjure up possibilities of what happened at Chambers—an exclusive hoity toity lounge in which I’d first embarrassed myself in front of the dragon. The debate of whether or not to call was short lived. Lucas gets the idea to check his phone too. He’s shaking his head absently as he scrolls then freezes at something he’s discovered.

  “What?” I whisper, and don’t dare open anything else. Lucas just slides his device across the table. I watch him scrub his face hard, groaning.