In all honestly, Allegra knew that she didn't make things easy. Ever. For anybody.
In Allegra's (admittedly self-authored) defense, it was because nothing worth having was easy, and she had a burning interest in spending her time only on what was worth having. Even if that worth was usually measured according standards not readily accepted by the general--or sober--public.
Still, she didn't think Mrs. Morgan had to shout that much. Because, seriously, it was just one--ok, ok, maybe two--windows and she totally offered to pay for the garden hose and the poodle. And the squirrel.
People were weird, Allegra decided, pushing the front door open with her hip. Her arms were too busy juggling groceries and a ragbag full of puppets.
*He's home.*
"No shit," the blond replied cheerily.
She shuffled the foodstuffs into the appropriate nookes and shelves. It didn't take long. In all the years since Allegra first rifled through the kitchen, the system of what-shit-goes-the-fuck-where had never changed. She never sure whether to deem that a flaw or blessing, or just another plain fact of Pappy's character. It did give her an itch to relocate all the biscuits and tins, if only for the sake of newness.
That probably said something about Allegra's character, too.
For the moment, however, psychological analysis was abandoned in favor of jam. Glorious, splendid, fabulous jam. Grabbing a jar with her left hand, a jar with her right, and sticking a spoon in her mouth, Allegra headed for the forge. Because that never changed either.
There were certain rules involving Allegra's snacks and Pappy's workspace, most of them starting with N and ending with O and not housing many, or any, letters in between. Because Allegra wasn't completely contrary, she respected the prohibition and parked her butt by the forge door. She nestled the jars in lap, spooned up sticky bliss, and thought.
She thought about what she'd said to Dave and what she was going to say to Mischa, and what it said about the situation than she'd told a stranger more truth than her own sister. She thought about the fact that she needed a new job and that she'd liked her old job, and that it was daft to worry about work anyway. She thought about death and Death, and opera. She thought about Halloween and birthdays. She thought about hope.
But Allegra didn't think about these things very hard, so when Pappy stuck his head out she didn't miss a beat saying, "Why the fuck don't you grow anything here? I mean, hell, even the pharmacist sponsors shrubbery. Stick a daisy or bury a peach pit or something, mate, 'cause this is--this is like Manhattan."