Page 118 of Meet Cute Reboot

I nod and drop into the seat across from Aunt Suzanne. “What’s wrong?” she mouths.

Madison sees her. “What? Is something wrong?” She rests her hand on my shoulder.

“No. Nothing. I’ve been working too hard.”

“What’s new?” Madison says.

It feels like a jab. Boss Cassie. Always working. Always trying to put this family on the map. Trying to figure out how to keep the roof from caving in.

I tighten my grip around my purse.

“What’s this?” Nana asks.

“Potato salad,” Madison says.

I peek over my shoulder. Nana is holding my container, the one I went through the trouble of purchasing so she wouldn’t holler at me for not contributing to the table. The weight on my chest starts to dissolve. I panic because I know what that means.

“This isnotpotato salad,” Nana says. “It’s a stale brick of chemicals and preservatives.”

Aunt Suzanne’s eyes go wide when she sees my expression.

“They make it fresh at the deli counter,” I say through clenched teeth.

“I don’t care what they say they do. I’m not eating it.”

I jump out of my chair. “Fine! Don’t eat my potato salad. Don’t drink my sweet tea! Don’t eat anything I bring!”

Nana looks at me like she’s seen a ghost. “Calm down. It’s just food.”

“It’snotjust food. It’s more than food! It’s—”

The weight lifts. The exhausting weight that’s been damming my outflow of emotions. When it goes, the water flows freely through my tear ducts and down my cheeks. I run from the kitchen, through the living room, and out to the porch where I collapse onto the swing, purse still in hand.

These tears aren’t for Luke. These are stress tears. That’s all.

Madison barrels through the front door followed by the rest of the crew, including Granny.

“What’s all the ruckus about?” Granny croaks from her perpetually hunched over stance. Aunt Suzanne pulls a lawn chair over to her and Granny sits with her hand propped on her cane.

Madison sits next to me on the porch swing and puts her arm around me while Mom claims the other side of the swing. Nana stands in front of me with her arms folded in front of her chest and Aunt Suzanne hangs back, leaning on one of the columns holding up the porch roof.

“What’s wrong, sis?” Madison says.

Now that they’re all staring at me and pressuring me to talk, the tears flow in sheets.

“I’m fine,” I choke out. “I just need a minute. You guys can go back inside. Please.”

Mom puts her hand on my knee. “Something’s wrong, honey. We want to help.”

“Could maybe just...one of you stay and help?” I’m at that stage of crying where the breath hitches involuntarily. This hasn’t happened to me since I was five. I’m bawling like a kindergartner.

Nana puts her hands on her hips. “Why are you so upset about potato salad?”

Mom shoots Nana a look. “I don’t think this is about potato salad.”

“Yes. It’s...the potato salad,” I manage. “That’s all it...is. I worked hard on that potato salad. Could you please...give me a minute? Alone?”

“That’s the problem,” Nana says. “You’ve been working too hard. You need to learn how to unwind.”