I felt like crap. I was halfway tempted to call Devi or Leaf and wake them up with my whining, but the next day was a school day, so instead, I crawled from my bed and went downstairs to sample our leftovers, and by sample, I mean microwave and devour all of them. Mormor had made fried chicken and mashed potatoes with gravy. They were delicious.

Both times that I ate them for dinner that night.

I was sitting in the living room, my only light the warm glow of the Christmas tree, when Mom padded downstairs in her robe and slippers. She caught me feasting and smirked, throwing herself onto the couch beside me and sticking her finger straight into my mashed potatoes.

“Uhhh, why are you so nasty?”

“Because potatoes are delicious,” Mom said.

She wasn’t wrong. That didn’t mean I wanted her pawing my food, though. When she licked off her first stolen potato sample and made motions to take a second, I stabbed the back of her hand with my fork.

Mom flinched.

“Dang, girl. You are bitey.”

“Leave my food alone,” I said.

“Okay, okay. Did you leave anything in the fridge?”

“...no.”

Mom smirked and headed off for the kitchen, returning a little while later with a jar of pickles, a pudding cup and a quarter pound of lean roast beef with a saltshaker. It was pretty gross, and I frowned as she sprawled out next to me.

“I’m the pregnant one, I thought,” I said. “That’s food abuse.”

“Delicious food abuse. I’m PMSing. Salt, beef and chocolate, baby.”

I smirked and went back at my dinner. Mom salted her beef and chewed thoughtfully. “So what’s got you up? Everything okay?”

“Jack told his parents. They were dicks about it,” I said. “Erm, sorry. They were unpleasant about it. They want to meet.”

“Good swear catch.” Mom proceeded to wrap a pickle in salted roast beef and eat it. I scowled at her. She ignored me. “We’ll get together. If they’re dicks, they can deal with me and your grandmother.”

“That’s what I told him.”

“Good. Did you know Vikings rubbed actual salt in wounds? Like, we did that. We may have invented that. We were those people. Jack’s dad is going down.”

“...you and Mormor say the weirdest crap sometimes, you know that?” I shook my head.

“Yeah, but you love us. And you don’t have a murder factory so I take that as a sign that I’m a superior parent.”

“As opposed to all of my classmates who do, in fact, have a murder factory?”

“Yes. Exactly.” Mom finished her pickle atrocities and moved on to her pudding cup. Realizing she didn’t have a spoon, she used her finger to eat it. Out of pity, I cleaned off my fork and handed it to her. She saluted me and dug in. “Friday,” she said.

“Invite them over then?”