“I’m not going to get any work done when I’m at home, will I, Bells?”
His dog peered up at him, then went back to gnawing on her chew toy.
As much as he wanted to, spending the day staring out at the calm lake waters was not on the agenda. The packet of new-hire paperwork he’d been putting off couldn’t be ignored any longer, not if he wanted health insurance. The forms he’d been asked to complete in the condo association’s management portal weren’t as urgent, but it made sense to knock those out while he was at it.
Bryson tore himself away from his outstanding view—the number one reason he’d offered over asking price for this condo to ensure he got it—and went into the kitchen for another drink.
His phone rang, a picture of his mom at his graduation from Tuskegee filling the screen.
“Hey, Ma,” Bryson answered. He put her on speaker and set the phone on the counter. “How was the recital last night?”
She and his dad had traveled to Baton Rouge to his nephew’s choir recital. Bryson would have made the seventy-mile trip if anyone had bothered to tell him about it. He’d called and gotten her voicemail. When he called again a few minutes later, she’d sent a text telling him to stop calling because the recital had just begun.
His “What recital?” text went unanswered until after the concert concluded.
He owed his brother a call so he could chew him out for not telling him about last night’s performance. The whole point of moving back home was to do things like attend choirrecitals and baseball games and whatever else his nephews had going on in their lives.
Bryson knew it was probably just an oversight. They were still getting used to him being back home. But he’d still felt like shit for the rest of the night.
“The recital was fine,” his mother answered. “Marcus’s voice cracked during his solo, so of course he now thinks the world is over.”
“Eighth grade,” Bryson said. “Tough age. Are you ready for dinner next Saturday night?” he asked, grabbing another can of water from the refrigerator. “I still think you should let me hire a car to pick you two up and drive you here. You and Dad can spend the night and I’ll drive you back on Sunday. I’ll even go to church.”
“Uh-huh,” his mother grunted. “Did you go today?”
“I plead the Fifth.”
“You need to find a church family out there,” she said. “You’re not going to drive an hour and a half to Houma for church every Sunday.”
“Maybe Iwillmake the trip every weekend. At least that way I’ll get to see you and Pop on a regular basis.”
“Don’t make promises you’re not going to keep to me or to the Lord,” she said. “Anyway, I called to tell you that your father and I can’t make the dinner next Saturday.”
“What? Why not?” He popped the top on his water.
“What was that noise? Is someone shooting?”
Bryson rolled his eyes. “Nobody is shooting. I told you my condo is in a safe neighborhood. Now, why can’t you two come over for dinner?”
“Because our favorite cruise line emailed a last-minutedeal that we can’t pass up. Fifty dollars a night for a balcony room.”
“Another cruise?” Bryson took the phone off speaker and cradled it between his shoulder and ear. “You literally just got back home from a cruise.”
“Fifty dollars per night, Bryson! Do you know how big of a savings that is?”
“It’s not really saving anything. They only sent the deal because they know you’re going to spend twice the cost of a regular cruise in the casino.”
“We’ve already paid for it,” she said. “We’ll do dinner when we get back. I’ll even cook for you.”
“What ifIwanted to cook foryou?” He didn’t want to cook. He never wanted to cook. But he was in full-on ornery teenager mode now.
Bryson pulled a red Solo cup from the pack he’d bought yesterday—he had a date with the homeware department at Macy’s tomorrow—and emptied the can of sparkling water into it.
“What was the point of me moving back home if you and Pop are never here?”
“You expected us to change our lifestyle just because you decided to move back? And you’re not home; you’re in New Orleans.”
“Closer to home,” he amended, modulating his tone because, first of all, he was too old to keep up the ornery teenager crap and, second, his mother was at least partially right. He hadn’t expected his parents to drop everything and race over whenever he called, but he thought they would carve out at leastsometime for him.
