Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 98992 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98992 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
Meals that include my brother are about my brother.
Meals that include my sister but not my brother are about her or serve her preferences – anything confit whether it’s chicken, goose, or duck.
And when it’s just the three of us for Sundays?
I don’t bother showing up.
When Pres was in my life, she pushed for it, claiming family time was important, so we did it. If we weren’t eating with mine, we were eating with hers and playing card games afterwards.
I always looked forward to our weeks at her house.
Her mom, Bertie, always made the best creamy baked potatoes – that could be paired with anything – and monkey bread that she probably should win awards for.
Man, I miss monkey bread.
Not as much as I miss my girl – obviously – but that shit is definitely up there.
Sometimes I think about eating it after a good smoke…and then guilt for even considering it kicks in forcing me to do shit like demand Bambi suck my dick so I can forget about it.
Fuck, what kind of fucking monster am I?
Bambi grabs my hand during my announcement, “Mom…I’m home!”
“You’re late!”
“I was gonna drop my girlfriend off first but then decided to bring her to dinner instead.”
“Oh, you finally got back together with Presley?” she asks from the other room while we make our way to the dining room.
“They don’t even know about me?!” Bambi squeaks as she comes to an abrupt halt.
“It’s complicated.”
Oh, it’s not.
Both her and Pres are secrets for a reason.
“You are in so much trouble,” Bambi threatens on a finger point from her other hand.
“Unless you want me to put your ass back in the car and take you home right the fuck now, I suggest you get your fucking finger out of my face and start thinking about that ‘thank you for letting me come to dinner’ blowjob you will be giving me for dessert.”
Her pout returns, yet she submits like she always does.
Honestly, one of the few times I’m thankful she’s so desperate to make me happy.
We enter the dining space still hand in hand, which is adjacent to the kitchen area where our cook, Marigold, is putting on the finishing touches of the meal.
Before I have a chance to make introductions to the Collins already seated at the table, my mother enters the room with a vintage bottle of wine in her hand. “You’re not Presley.”
“Ugh,” Bambi instantly gags.
“Bambi, this my mom, Marcy,” hand gestures are attached to each announcement, “my dad, Dereck, my sister, Liz, and my brother, Noah.” When I’m finished, I run my fingers through my shaggy strands to slyly deliver a soothing tug. “Everyone, this is my new girlfriend, Bambi.”
They all warmly greet her at the same time we sit in the seats across from my brother and sister.
“So excited to totally be here,” Bambi dramatically giggles like a microphone is in her face. “Just like I’m sure you are all totally excited to finally meet me. The upgrade.”
“Did you she just refer to herself as an upgrade?” Liz quietly asks Noah, loose blonde pieces of hair falling in front of her face as she does. “She thinks she’s better than his ex?”
Noah poorly hides his smirk.
And seeing it has me wanting to do the same.
Bambi continues talking despite no one loudly acknowledging her previous statement. “It’s like a huge thing for me to be here, right? Like that’s how you know me and Collins are serious?”
“Not really,” my father bluntly states. “He used to bring home Presley all the time. In fact, she rarely missed a Sunday dinner with us.”
The information causes Bambi to pout, but more importantly mass confusion for me.
Did he like that I did that?
“She also often brought flowers with her,” Mom needlessly adds from the opposite end of the table from her husband. “Whatever bouquets were in season. Cheap little things; however, it was the thought that counted. She’d bring them to me in thanks for being invited, we’d put them on the table, and all dine together.”
“She used to bring desserts sometimes, too,” Liz also reminds. “What was that one thing she usually brought? It was always so sticky and so awful for my thighs but like so irresistible I couldn’t help but have a piece.”
The answer somehow simultaneously causes me happiness and hurt to give. “Monkey bread.”
“Yes!” My sister points at me seconds prior to her salad being placed in front of her. “I loved that shit. And it was like always homemade.”
“Family recipe.”
Bambi’s pout deepens while her body wiggles around in discomfort beside me.
I don’t make the effort to coddle her.
Comfort.
I simply let her stew in the recollections as a punishment for forcing me to bring her here.
Forcing me to sully what was once so special.
“So, Bambi,” Noah politely interrupts the bonding moment between me and Liz, “it’s nice of you to join us. Did you two just start dating? Is that why you haven’t come in the past?”