We sit and eat, TTiernan picking a sweet pickle out of thelittle bowl and biting into it.“Snow’s coming soon,” Dad tells us, lifting his beer as helooks at TTiernan. With sausageand toast.”She laughs, and I growl under my breath.At least I can still do her two shots. “Saving calories for breakfast in the morning.”And then she looks at me. “YOU had to clean the plate!”“Semantics.” She takes a swig of her beer, a look of selfsatisfactionon her face.“TThat was your dinner, honey,” Dad warns her.She shrugs. You’re so doing these two shots.“Go!” I yell.I shovel in a mouthful and look over, seeing her take herplate and set it on the ground.Huh?I freeze, watching Danny and Johnny scarf up everythingon her plate, one taking the steak and the other tearing off halfas they both escape to a corner to savor their spoils.What the fuck?“TThat wasn’t the deal!” I blurt out, food nearly falling outof my mouth.“You said I had to clean my plate.”“You!” I reiterate. “Deal.”I pick up my steak knife and fork, seeing we both have thesame cut of meat and the same scoop of macaroni salad.Her hands remain in her lap.“Ready?” she asks.“You don’t need utensils?”She shakes her head, an unsettling smirk on her face.“Nope.”Okayyy. “If you clean yourplate first, I have breakfast duty for the rest of the week.”She ponders it for a moment and then nods once.
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