He didn’t need to add more on to that sentence for me to feel nauseous. “That was a great lunch. We don’t eat those fancy oriental noodles very often.” “Asian. They’re Asian,” I replied, dropping down on the couch in a food coma. I’d eaten enough pasta that I was thankful for the stretch factor of my yoga pants. It seemed being Tased didn’t impact my ability to eat. “Oriental is reserved these days for rugs.” Aunt Velma thought about that for a moment, then nodded, her lips pursed. “Sure. Makes sense.” She tossed her handbag onto the armchair by the door. It was the size of Rhode Island and always had anything anyone needed, at any time. It was like a Mary Poppins bag. If she reached in far enough, she’d pull out a freestanding lamp. “I’m glad you remembered to text Mike about your car.” Mike Ostranski was Violet’s boyfriend. They’d hit it off in high school but rekindled their relationship earlier in the summer in Alaska. There was a story there, but they hadn’t really come up for air from fooling around to share it.
