Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 92535 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92535 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
I make decent time on the interstate and take Exit 30 to Davidson. The town itself is adorable, but I take a few turns and am quickly out in what feels like the middle of nowhere. The road narrows, the neighborhoods of pretty homes disappear, and then I’m hanging a right at a mailbox whose wooden post is leaning precariously to the side.
“Goddamnit, Ava.” Ever since that girl got her license last year, she’s been a menace behind the wheel.
Adding fix the mailbox to my mental to-do list, I follow the gravel drive up to the tiny red-brick ranch my parents bought when Birdie was born. Seeing the place—peeling paint on the windows, a large, pink metal heart hanging on the front door for Valentine’s Day—I’m hit by a mixture of emotions. Sadness. Excitement. Grief. A little anger too. Why won’t Mom let me buy her a new damn house already? I’ve begged her to at least let me fix this one up. But after I paid off the mortgage, she refused to take another dime for the house.
The front door opens and Shelby spills out onto the front porch, a big old smile on her face. My anger dissolves, replaced by a weightless feeling in my center that makes me smile too.
I turn off the ignition and hop out of the car. “Look who’s up before noon.”
“Don’t be ugly! I got up for you, butthead.”
“I’m glad you did.” I wrap my arm around her neck and pull her in so I can kiss her head. “How’d the government exam go yesterday?”
She rolls her eyes. “Why do you always have to ask about school? It’s so annoying.”
“Because doing well in school is what’s going to get you into college, and going to college—”
“Is what’s going to get me a good job, which will allow me to make a good living,” she mimics. “I know.”
“The exam—tell me you passed.”
“She didn’t.” Ava is bobbing on her toes in the doorway, a shit-eating grin on her face. “She got caught cheating.”
Shelby walks back to the house to give her a shove. “Shut up. Brixton has a medical condition that requires him to visit the bathroom way more than a normal person. We can prove it. He’s got a doctor’s note and everything.”
“Please tell me y’all are joking.” I give Ava a hug. “Especially about the guy.”
“It’s a real medical condition,” Shelby sniffs.
“I didn’t know being an idiot counted as a medical condition,” Ava replies. “In that case, you should get a doctor’s note too.”
I bite back a smile, even as I add find Brixton with the bathroom issue, whoop his ass to my ever-expanding to-do list. “Y’all. I moved halfway across the country so I could be closer to you. Don’t make me regret that decision already.”
Shelby leans her head against my shoulder. “You know we’re thrilled you’re back, Teddy.”
“And we appreciate everything you do for us,” Ava adds. “Seriously.”
“You’re seriously going to be in trouble if you really let that kid Brixton cheat off you. You’re better than that.”
“But he’s so cute,” Ava teases.
Shelby shoves her again. “Shut up!”
I follow the girls inside the house. My gut seizes. It looks like the place was hit by a tornado. There’s shit everywhere. Clothes piled on the floor. Backpacks and laptops and random pieces of mail tossed onto the old leather sectional in the front living room. Plates crusted with the detritus of meals past piled up on the coffee table and TV stand.
When you cram five—no, four now—people into a small space, there’s bound to be mess. But this is next level.
Leaning down to gather a small mountain of what I hope are clean clothes into my arms, I shoot my sisters the dirtiest, most judgmental look I can muster. “I told y’all last time, you have to help Mom pick up. It’s not her job to clean up after you anymore. You’re adults now.”
“We try to help, but then it just gets messy again,” Shelby says, heading for the kitchen without picking up a single damn thing. “What’s the point?”
I follow her into the tiny kitchen, the linoleum floor creaking beneath my feet. “The point is, Mom works fifty hours a week to pay for your shit. Least you can do is lend a hand around the house.”
Speaking of Mom, she’s standing at the counter making fried-chicken-and-pimiento-cheese sandwiches—my favorite—and my oldest sister Birdie is beside her, layering pieces of fresh green lettuce on potato buns.
It smells freaking delicious in here. Like cookies baking in the oven and Mom’s perfume and Ivory dish soap.
It smells like home.
I give Mom and Birdie a kiss on the cheek before holding up the rumpled clothes. “Clean or dirty?”
“Hm.” Birdie leans in to give them a sniff. “Clean.”
I set the clothes on the kitchen table and begin to fold them. “Mom, did the cleaning service not come this week? I paid for a deep clean that was supposed to happen Thursday.”