Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 81009 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81009 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
“Smells good!” I called out, making my way toward the kitchen.
I might have moved out, but I came for dinner at least four nights a week. I’d much rather have Momma’s cooking than pay for food that wasn’t nearly as good. Plus, I could check on her this way.
“Because it is!” she called back to me, and I grinned.
I had very few memories of my father living here with us. He’d not tried to have a relationship with me once he moved out to start his new family and I sure as fuck wasn’t going to search him out.
It was something I struggled with as a kid until, one day at a baseball game, another boy on my team was getting yelled at by his father for every mistake. The kid looked pale and beaten down. Meanwhile, my momma was in the stands, cheering for me so damn loudly that, at nine years old, I realized I didn’t need a dad. I had her, and she was better than a dad.
When I lost a game, we would go out to get ice cream. When my best friend moved away, she made brownies and popped a big bowl of popcorn for dinner. Then we stayed up late, watching movies.
There wasn’t a time in my life when I’d felt like she wasn’t there for me or that I was missing out by not having a father. I had my mom. The strongest person I knew.
Mom’s blonde hair, which she kept cut in a bob, was pulled back with a headband, and a pink-and-white checked apron covered her T-shirt and denim shorts as she worked at the stove. “Please Forgive Me” by Bryan Adams played on the Bluetooth speaker I’d bought her for Christmas last year, and she was singing along to it.
I squeezed her shoulder and kissed the top of her head. “Please tell me that is peach cobbler I smell.”
She tilted her head back to look up at me. “Yep, and I got ribs on the grill out back. Go check on them and take that sheet pan with you. They’re probably close to ready. Might need five more minutes or so. The corn on the cob can all come off now, so grab the tongs too.”
Damn, I was glad I had come home to eat tonight. She had gone all out.
“Did you know I was coming?” I asked, looking at the three plates on the table and the pitcher of her homemade lemonade.
“When do you ever tell me you’re coming?” she asked. “There is plenty though. I always make enough for you.”
Frowning, I looked from the table back to her. “You set the table for three.”
She nodded her head, then opened the oven to pull out what looked like potato skins, smothered in cheese and bacon. I loved those things. She always made them for me on special occasions.
“Salem has a friend coming,” Mom said, then shot me a grin. “I think she’s got a crush on him. God knows the boy can’t keep his eyes off her at school. Good kid,” she said, then placed the pan of potato skins on the hot pad. “Go check the ribs and corn,” she urged.
Snatching up the sheet pan and tongs she had lying out, I left the kitchen.
Mom had done all this for some guy that Salem had coming over? Did she think she needed to impress him for Salem’s sake? Because Salem had that handled with the lack of clothing she was wearing.
I glanced at the mirror that hung on the wall as I passed it, and the scowl on my face matched my mood. Shouldn’t Mom be more worried about making Salem—oh, I don’t know—put on a goddamn bra and some shorts that you couldn’t see the outline of her pussy in?
The back door slammed behind me.
Putting the pan down with more force than necessary, I went over to open the grill. Spare ribs, coated with her special seasoning, and foil-covered cobs of corn filled the rack. I took the tongs and began getting the corn out, pissed that Mom had gone to all this trouble for some fucking boy.
“Do you need any help?”
I tensed and inhaled sharply at the sound of Salem’s voice. Not looking up at her, I continued to keep my sole attention on my task.
“I got it,” I replied, hearing the edge in my voice.
“I can carry the corn inside for you if you need to wait longer on the ribs,” she offered.
Getting out the last of the corn, I closed the lid so the ribs had a few more minutes. “I said, I got it.” That was a little too harsh.
My eyes darted to her, and I wished they hadn’t. Dammit, she looked like she might cry.
Just go away, Salem. Don’t keep poking the bear.