Chapter 25
Mack's in the kitchen, cover on, professing to be Betty f*****g Crocker. Professing to be something besides an insidious b***h. At the point when I enter, she's drifting over a blending bowl, whisking eggs into a cold heap of sugar and flour. "We need to talk," I say. Her eyes never leave the bowl. "Simply allow me a moment." I race to her. Instantly, the bowl is off the counter and pummelling against the floor. A line of cake player follows its plunge, starting from the countertop, the cabinet underneath it, and across the floor to the actual bowl. "What the hell, Freya?" Mack says. "That is I'm's opinion, Mack. What the heck?" She inclines toward the counter and takes a gander at me watchfully. And afterward, she gets it. She knows precisely the thing I'm discussing. "What
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