Total pages in book: 42
Estimated words: 39689 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 198(@200wpm)___ 159(@250wpm)___ 132(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 39689 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 198(@200wpm)___ 159(@250wpm)___ 132(@300wpm)
I take a cab to the shopping center and spend two hours in the craft store, touching all the pencils and markers, the smooth drawing papers. I take my time picking out a professional set of colored pencils and a new sketchbook to replace my notebook and really get the most out of the colors.
A warm, tingly feeling ripples through me as I hand over the hundred-dollar bill to the cashier. Even though Jonah isn’t here, it feels like he’s treating me, like he’s the one buying me a present. When I was a kid, my foster parents used to buy me presents to try and win my trust, but that kind of thing stopped a long time ago. Nobody buys me presents anymore.
Nobody except Jonah.
Having promised my uncle I’d stop over at some point today, I head in the direction of his neighborhood instead of going straight home. Home. I’m already referring to Jonah’s house like it’s mine, and I’ve only spent one night there.
As dangerous as this line of thinking is, it’s a nice departure from my usual pessimism. I grab a blue-raspberry slushie at the gas station across from the extended-stay hotel and then head up to my Uncle Craig’s room. I notice he’s wearing the same clothes he had on two days ago.
“What took you so long, kiddo? I thought you were gonna stand me up.”
“I had to pick up a few things.” I hold tight to my shopping bag as I balance on the arm of the couch—which is somehow even messier than it was the last time I visited. Thankfully, he’s opened a window to let in some fresh air, but the summer heat does little to mask the odor.
“Yeah, I can see that.” His gaze flits to the bag in my hand. He doesn’t say anything about the messages I left him, or the fact that he never returned my calls. “Listen, I could use some more cash as soon as possible.”
“I don’t have any cash.” Technically I still have the other hundred that Jonah gave me, but I don’t feel right giving it to Craig.
“You had enough to go on a little shopping spree.” He picks up an open can of soda, sniffs it, then takes a swig.
Guilt slinks down the jungle gym of my spine. I asked him once what he does for work, and he mumbled something about being on disability. Physically, he seems to be in decent shape, but some conditions like to hide in plain sight. Whatever they’re paying him per month can’t be much, if he’s constantly having to beg for money.
Reflexively, I tuck the bag of art supplies behind my feet. “I needed new pencils for tattoo designs.”
“Are you designing for someone right now?”
“Not yet.”
My uncle eyes me critically, his mouth tilting into a frown. I have to actively stop myself from squirming under the weight of his stare. “You still wanna go to Cali, right?”
I stiffen. Obviously, I still want to go...right?
“Of course I do.”
“Because your dad’s really looking forward to seeing you.”
My pulse jumps ten stories. This is the first I’ve heard of Craig actually getting in touch with my father. “You talked to my dad?”
“Yeah, he called me last night.”
A thousand questions come pouring into my mind like a rainstorm. “How did he get your number? And what did he say? Did you tell him we’re coming to visit—”
“I told him we’re planning on driving out there in a few weeks.” My uncle shakes his head. “Man, he’ll be disappointed if you’ve changed your mind.”
“I haven’t changed my mind.” The question I’m afraid to ask sits on my tongue like sour candy, itching, burning, stinging. “Did he ask about me?”
“Course he asked about you, kiddo! He can’t fuckin’ wait to see you, all grown up.” My uncle finishes off his soda, burps, then tosses the can in the sink. “That’s why I need the money now, Teagan. So we can get a move on.”
Suddenly, the art supplies in my shopping bag feel frivolous. After fourteen years, my dad wants to see me, and here I am, spending money on things that won’t bring us together.
After a long pause, Craig asks, “Where’d you get the money for art supplies, anyway? I thought you quit your job.”
“The guy I’m staying with gave it to me.”
“What’d you have to do to get it?” My uncle sneers, and I bristle. Jonah didn’t give me money because I had sex with him. Though, thinking about it, I can see why Craig might jump to that conclusion.
“Nothing,” I tell him firmly. “He’s just a nice guy who wants to help.”
“I’m sure he does. How’d you hook up with Mr. Moneybags, anyway?”
“He’s my old case worker’s brother.”
“Where’s he live?”
“Over in Farragut.”
Craig whistles. “Classy neighborhood.” I shrug. He rests both hands on my shoulders, his gaze narrow. “Don’t forget why we’re doing this, Teagan. You’ve said it yourself more than once, there’s nothing for you here.”