My phone buzzes rapidly in my pocket. I wipe my hands on a rag and pull it out to check it.
SARAH: Hey, Scowly Kitty.
SARAH: If you grab milk from the store on your way home, I’ll make dinner.
SARAH: Oh, and two heads of broccoli.
SARAH: Wait, maybe three.
SARAH: I know how much you love it.
I smile.
ME: I’ll get milk.
ME: Anything else?
SARAH: Hmmm. Let me think.
I roll my eyes, knowing whatever comes next will be good.
SARAH: If you have a crowbar lying around, I could use it to pry the stick out of Cory’s ass. We all might feel better.
ME: How about I drop by? I’d like to chat with him.
SARAH: Nah. I’ll let you save all that protective aggression for someone who won’t cower at the soundof your growl.
I chuckle. Sarah knows I will take out anyone who even thinks about messing with her.
“What the hell is this? What’s going on?” Carson wags a finger at me.
I raise my eyes to his, knowing at some point, these gossip queens will find out. I’ve kept Sarah and me taking things to a serious level to myself. I’ve wanted to enjoy it as long as possible before these nags insert their nonsense where it’s unwelcome.
I’ve spent every night with her since I told her I loved her, and I plan to continue. I have promises to keep.
Carson crosses his arms. “You want to finally tell us why watching football at your house was canceled, andwhythere have been multiple sightings of your smile over the past week?”
“Krissy still isn’t talking to him,” Trig says. “There should be nothing but ‘fuck offs’ and ‘get your asses back to work.’” He lowers his voice to mimic me.
“I talked to Krissy, so you can mind your own damn business.” I spoke with her only that one morning, but I’ve texted her, and she’s responded. It’s progress. I’m giving her the space and time Sarah keeps reminding me to allow her.
“How the hell do you know Krissy still isn’t talking to him?” Carson barks at Trig.
I want to smile. I’ll sit back and let these idiots and their drama spin.
“What’s it to you?” Trig snaps back. “Wind has been taking her food. Why aren’t you jumping all over his ass?”
Carson grumbles something and tosses a socket into his tool chest.
“Seriously, Slade, what’s going on?” Wind sets his hands on his hips. “The level of unexplainable tension in the place is miserable. These two are at each other’s throats.” He points at Carson and Trig. “Luke is trying to adjust to whatever this new mood is you’re confusing us all with, and my gastrointestinal system can’t handle this kind of stress. We can’t fall apart like this.”
“No shit.” Trig turns to him. “We’ve been dealing with the second-hand repercussions of your ass bombs for far longer than a week.”
He shrugs, his cheeks turning a little pink above his beard. “I had a little gluten. It was a mistake.”
“It’s kind of nice that he doesn’t yell so much.” Luke offers his two cents. “Have you all ever thought about family therapy?”
We stare at the naive kid.
