The panicked lilt to his mom’s voice sent him racing to the kitchen.
Jamar made it to the arched entryway and stopped short. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to burn his eyes out or go to his old room and cry.
His mom sat atop the kitchen counter, her skirt hiked up. She held her unbuttoned shirt tight over her breasts. His dad was bare-chested, his pants and belt gathered at his ankles.
“What are you doing here?” they yelled at him.
“Dying inside,” Jamar answered.
He pivoted and started for the front door. He wasn’t mature enough to accept the fact that his parents had sex. He would never be fucking mature enough for that.
“Jamar, come back here,” his mother called.
“That’s okay,” he called over his shoulder. “I’ll see you guys at Thanksgiving.”
“Boy, would you get back here!” His mother caught him by the arm. She still held her shirt together with her fist.
Jamar squeezed his eyes shut. “Please button your shirt. God, I’m never surprising you guys again,” he said. He went into the living room and plopped down on the sofa, propping his elbows on his thighs and cradling his head in his hands.
“You’ve got to expect to see some things you may not want to see when you come sneaking up on empty nesters.”
He groaned. “I don’t want to hear this.”
His dad came into the room, his belt buckle still flapping. “What are you doing here?” he asked. “Why didn’t you call?”
“I will be asking myself that same question for the rest of my natural-born life,” Jamar said.
He told them about Big Silas’s medical scare. They then informed him that they’d booked a last-minute cruise out of Galveston that was leaving the Monday before Thanksgiving.
“So you won’t be here for Thanksgiving? When were you going to tell me?” Jamar asked.
“Today,” his mom answered. “After I finished thanking your dad for the cruise. That’s what you interrupted.”
“That’s it, I’m out.” He pushed up from the sofa.
“Oh, stop.” His mom laughed. As ifanyof this shit was funny. “You really need to lighten up,” she added.
So now he was a prude. Great.
He hugged them both goodbye and left the house, wondering why mind bleach wasn’t an actual thing.
For the entire drive home, all Jamar could think of was how messed up it was that his fifty-year-old dad was getting laid more than he was these days.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“What if it was wrapped in bacon?”
Jamar sat back in his chair and casually traced his finger along a crude drawing of the Longhorns emblem someone had carved into the table’s scarred surface.
“Nope,” he answered, failing to suppress his grin.
“Bullshit!” Taylor’s indignation was genuine as she held up her fork. “You’re telling me you wouldn’t eat this if there was a thick, crispy, perfectly cooked slice of bacon surrounding it?”
“Regardless of what most people think, bacon doesn’t make everything better. I would not eat a brussels sprout, even if it was wrapped in bacon.”
“You don’t know what you’re missing,” she said, slipping the fork in her mouth.
“I don’t mind not knowing everything, especially when it comes to those little baby cabbages.”
