Fed up

spout clogged. I shuddered to think of the bacteria that must already be growing in my poor gut.
    “How was your meal?” Marlee rounded the corner from behind a high shelf that held teetering pots and pans. “Not too shabby, was it?” She smiled at what she assumed to be her outstanding culinary skills. She wiped her forehead with a dish towel and then slapped it onto the counter, where it landed in the chicken juice.
    “Brilliant, again, Marlee,” Robin chirped.
    “Thanks. Business has been up and down.” Marlee shrugged and examined her filthy hands with no visible alarm. “What’re you going to do, right? I just do the best I can and put out a great product. Anyone who wants to complain can get out.”
    “Thanks so much, Marlee,” I said politely, resisting the impulse to douse her with a bottle of sanitizer. “And, Robin? I’ll give Adrianna your number so she can call you tomorrow and talk to you about the shower.” I couldn’t wait to escape. “I should get going,” I said. I gave Robin quick directions to my parents’ house and said good-bye.
    As I turned to leave, I noticed a large corkboard by the doors to the dining room. Pinned to it were the usual permits and postings from the state, but what stuck out was the Boston Mystery Diner’s damning review of Alloy. The article was covered in black marker: a large X ran across the typeface, and “Eat Me!” and “Screw You!” were printed in angry letters at the top of the page.
    Most noticeable, however, was a gleaming, stainless-steel knife that had been plunged into the center of the review.
     

 
    I spent most of Friday afternoon and evening at my parents’ house, and I was back there again at nine on Saturday morning to finish the preparations for Adrianna’s shower. I’d already finished some of the work: the table linens had been washed and ironed, the white dishes set out, the flowers arranged in vases. The candles were ready to be lit. Fortunately, an eleven o’clock shower meant brunch: it was much easier for three amateurs to do brunch food than it would’ve been to cook and serve lunch or dinner. Dad was going to be kicked out of the house when the guests started to arrive, but for now he was busy arranging a fruit platter.
    “Why did I get stuck with the fruit platter when there are four boxes of perfectly delicious pastries I could be setting out?” My dad eyed the white cardboard boxes tied with red and white string.
    “Jack, you cannot be trusted with the pastries. That’s why you’re in charge of cantaloupes and kiwis.” My mother walked across the kitchen with a tray of bagels, cream cheese, lox, red onions, and capers. “I’ll try to save you some tiramisu if you promise to stay away until after the girls have gone. Chloe, watch your father,” she instructed me as she disappeared into the dining room.
    “Dad? What does Mom think she’s doing with that thing on her head?” I was referring to a silk-flower headpiece my mother wore.
    “Ah, yes.” He cleared his throat. “That’s her latest craft project. She seems to believe that floral headwear is going to be the fashion hit of the year.” He spoke with amused resignation.
    I shook my head in disbelief. “She looks like she’s going to a Maypole dance.” I’d have to make sure that she didn’t accessorize with that monstrosity on the day of Ade’s wedding. “Dad!” I yelled. “No!” I practically had to tackle my father, who had grabbed a pair of scissors and was on the verge of breaking into the pastry boxes.
    “Oh, all right. Some help you are,” he teased. “I did my dumb fruit platter, so I’m going to get out of your hair and go to my yoga class. Did Mom tell you about it? It’s wonderful! Watch this.”
    Dad raised his arms while teetering awkwardly on one foot. Even while he was striking a ridiculous pose, I had to admire how muscular my middle-aged father was. He still had a full head of hair, most of it gray, and with his fit build and those Paul Newman blue eyes of his, he was quite a handsome man.
    I laughed. “Okay, Dad. Go work on your chakra or whatever, and we’ll see you later.”
    Dad grabbed a gym bag and blew me a kiss. “I’m trusting you to snatch a few of those treats for me.”
    “Hey, Dad?” I stopped him. “Thanks so much for everything you’re doing for Adrianna and Owen. Especially walking her down the aisle. It means a lot to her. And to me.”
    “You got it, kiddo. We love those two. It will be an