Page 55 of Lainie


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No there isn’t. I plan on returning Keeton’s car as soon as possible. “You won’t have time. Our car is going to be done soon.”

“Well, that’s a damn shame, sis. That’s a sweet-ass ride.”

It sure is. “When I buy a car, I’ll try to get something halfway nice.” I should make a note to myself to get that done this week.

I walk into my bedroom and lie down on my bed. Staring at the phone, I think about my reply. I’m definitely not going over there but I don’t want any drama.

Me: Can’t. Busy.

I only have to wait a few seconds.

Keeton: I miss you. I want you in my bed.

And, there it is. Stupid Lewis.

Me: Can’t, sorry.

Me: What’s the update on my sister’s car?

I wait. It takes him longer than a second this time.

Keeton: We’re going to sell it for parts.

What in the heck?Why does that instantly make me angry? Who does this guy think he is? It’s not his car, which means it’s not his decision to make. I’m getting pretty tired of having people in my life, men to be specific, who think they know what’s best for me without ever asking me what’s best for me.

Me: Uh, what!? No. We need the car back. Keely can’t afford to just go out and buy a new car. Besides, that’s not your place to decide. It’s Keely’s car.

Keeton: Babe. It’s in bad shape.

Me: Keeton. I want the car back.

Keeton: I was going to get you something else with the money.

Again. He’s overstepping.

Me: We love that car. It has history. We want it back.

Keeton: Fine. I’ll get Billy to put it all back together. You can get it later this week.

Me: Fine. Thank you.

I set the phone down and decide to hunt down some candy. I need something sweet to eat. Back on my bed, I see his reply.

Keeton: So, you don’t want to come over?

Me: No.

Keeton: You pissed at me, babe?

Me: No

Yes.

Keeton: Alright. Sweet dreams, beautiful. See you in the morning.

I don’t reply. My emotions are all over the board. I’m upset with him––angry about the car and sad about him using me and mad at myself for being too stupid to know it. “God, men suck.”

“Word,” mutters my sister as she passes by my bedroom door.