Maybe in the “let’s embarrass our grandkids as much as possible” universe, I thought.

I put a pot on the stove and lit the flame while Grandma Dotty belted out her rendition of “Sweet Home Alabama”… which slowly turned into a rendition of “Georgia on My Mind”… and then turned into a version of “Omaha Mall” by Justin Bieber.

Grandma’s not very good with places and names. Or fashion.

Once the water started to boil, I threw in some pasta, then reached for some wilted lettuce. Shouldn’t making dinner be a grown-up’s job? I thought as Rafe chugged more orange juice, finishing off the carton. He let out a huge belch loud enough to rattle the dishes in the sink. Dotty giggled.

Oh, yeah, I reminded myself. I’m the only grown-up here at the moment.

I washed the sagging lettuce leaves and topped them with cherry tomatoes (which I love) and green pepper slices (which Rafe hates) to brighten them up and hide their age.

“First course!” I sang as I brought the plates into the dining room.

Rafe frowned at the salad. “Yeah, that’s pretty appetizing—if you’re a rabbit.”

“I guess I was confused by your giant ears and twitchy nose,” I shot back.

“This looks wonderful!” Dotty gushed. “So healthy.”

Rafe picked the peppers out of his salad and placed them on the side of his plate. He nibbled a leaf, then asked, “Where’s the real food?” Like I was his servant or something.

“Next course, coming right up,” I said as cheerfully as I could through gritted teeth.

Back in the kitchen, I strained the pasta and ladled on some sauce.

“Hey, Georgia, that actually doesn’t look horrible,” Rafe said when I placed the plate in front of him.

I smiled sweetly. “Be sure to eat it while it’s nice and hot.”

Rafe took a huge, greedy bite and hit the roof. Literally.

“Hot enough for you?” I asked, but Rafe didn’t answer. He was too busy fanning the flames burning his lips. Hmm. I guess he didn’t enjoy the entire bottle of hot sauce I emptied onto his pasta.

Good thing I didn’t put any on Grandma’s or mine.

Grandma took another bite. “This is delish, Carolina.”

Rafe sputtered and howled. He couldn’t really speak, but I knew what he was trying to say—and it involved revenge. I’d better escape while he’s busy dousing his tongue with a glass of water, I decided. I left my dishes in the sink and headed to the one place where I knew Rafe wouldn’t dare bother me.

My safe place.

My Mom Is My Best Friend

When I got to my safe place, I discovered it had been invaded by a carnivorous (but nicely dressed) beast.

You guessed it: Missy. Sitting there in a corner booth of Swifty’s Diner with her snooty-looking family. They were daintily eating apple pie.