Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 68459 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68459 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
We walked out of the apartment, and this time I did lock it behind me.
As we got down to the bottom of the stairs, the black sedan was back.
But the moment it saw us, it left.
“This is bullshit,” Quincy muttered darkly.
He walked up to my car and said, “Tell me the address, honey.”
My stuff was still sitting on the seat where I left it.
When I would’ve gotten into the car by myself, he hurried forward and opened my door for me.
I frowned at him.
He waited patiently, and I eventually got in, wondering if it was normal to be elated by a man opening my car door.
Clicking my seatbelt into place, I gave him the address. Then asked if he needed directions.
He shook his head. “I know everything there is to know about Dallas.”
I acknowledged his understanding of Dallas and closed my door. Seconds later I was backing out, not asking for any more details. He stopped me, though, with one hand on the hood of my car, and the other on the door.
I reluctantly rolled down the window.
“Okay, explain to me one more time why y’all do this in the middle of the year?” Quincy asked.
It was weird, I knew.
“Okay, so let me try to explain it in a way that doesn’t make it sound so weird,” I giggled. “Every last one of us was born in December. My birthday is on the twentieth. Tay’s is on the nineteenth. And Humfrid’s is on the twenty-sixth.”
“Okay,” he nodded. “I got that part.”
“Well, my parents didn’t have much when we were growing up. My dad only worked minimum wage jobs, and there really wasn’t much extra to go around. You know?”
“Yeah,” he nodded. “That happens, yes.”
“Well, one day Humfrid asked if we could start celebrating our birthdays in the summer. Because that way she might get more presents, but she explained it to our parents as a way of saving them some money.” I explained. “And Mom and Dad ran with the idea, because truthfully, it is hard to buy both Christmas and birthday gifts all in the same month. So a few years ago, we all started to celebrate our birthdays on the same day—June twelfth. So now we all come out, Mom cooks, and we exchange our birthday gifts with each other.”
“Y’all couldn’t do them on different days?” Quincy wondered.
“I asked that once, but Mom doesn’t like cooking that much, so this way she only has to cook once,” I admitted.
He nodded. “Understandable, I guess.”
“Anyway, so that’s what we’re doing today. Mom cooks our favorite meals, we all open presents and exchange gifts, and we go home,” I said.
Except, that was kind of a fib.
Sometimes I never got my favorite meal.
Okay, that was a lie. I never got my favorite meal, because my favorite meal was lasagna, and Dad hated lasagna. So more often than not—okay, never—I didn’t get anything I actually liked on this particular day.
“Okay, honey,” he murmured. “I’ll meet you there. Wait until you see my truck pull out, though. In case I get lost.”
That was bullshit. I believed him when he said he knew Dallas well.
He just wanted to see me.
But I’d wait. “Okay.”
The drive was comical.
He arrived at my parents’ place before I did, going fast enough that he could be in front, but slow enough that I was still in his rearview mirror.
We pulled up outside my parents’ house, the nice ass house they didn’t have when I was growing up, and parked.
I all but dove out of the car, anxious to get hell on earth started.
Because the faster I started, the faster it would end.
I already had the car’s back door opened when I felt him move into the space behind me.
My hands were on a present when I felt his hands on my hips, turning me in his direction.
I turned everything but my face toward him.
He must’ve sensed my anxiousness, because he caught my face in his hand and turned my chin toward him, studying my expression with his all-knowing eyes.
“Are you sure you want to go?” he asked. “You look…”
“Nervous?” I teased.
That was the wrong word, though.
Anxious. Unnerved. Pre-annoyed.
“Pissed.” He studied my face. “You look like you don’t want to be here.”
I would rather be getting a mammogram and a coloscopy at the same time in front of a sold-out Cowboys Stadium than going into my parents’ place.
“I don’t,” I admitted, tugging away slightly. “But I have to.”
When he let me go, I turned for the presents I’d abandoned in the back seat when he’d taken me into his arms.
I still felt nice and cozy as he watched me.
“I’m just going to warn you,” I said as I gathered the presents up into my arms. “This is about to piss you off.”
I knew he’d see the day for what it was. Yet, I still hoped, like I did every year, that I wouldn’t feel so left out this time.