The blender catastrophe was the least of anyone's concerns that morning—except maybe for Mrs. Summers, who was now sweeping pineapple chunks off the ceiling while muttering, "This is why I wanted normal daughters."
But chaos was practically a family heirloom in the Summers household, and today was no different.
Zach and Ava retreated into the sunroom, where the light streamed in like judgment and the lemon cookies looked like they'd been arranged by a therapist trying to soften the blow of whatever came next.
Ava perched elegantly on the arm of the sofa, arms crossed.
Zach, still holding the business card that smelled vaguely of sandalwood and mid-life crisis, broke the silence.
"So, that went... slightly better than my intervention with a raccoon cult in college."
Ava raised an eyebrow. "You're going to circle back to that one later."
"Fair," Zach said, tossing Shen's card into the indoor fountain with flair. "Do you think he'll try again?"
