She shakes her head, amusement lining her face. “Just take the bottle, you. I know you had your first drink at fifteen.”
“I did not have my first drink at fifteen…it was sixteen.”
“Ha.” She offers me the bottle again, and this time, I take it.
I’ve never liked wine, and despite that, I’m not about to reject my mother’s offering. Anybody who knows her, knows better than to do that.
“To answer your earlier question, the drive was fine, except for the shit load of traffic on the highway, so I might crash early tonight. I’m meeting up with Ethan tomorrow morning.”
“That still doesn’t get you out of watchingScandal.”
I’m going to be exhausted tomorrow after hours of watchingScandalwith Mom. She doesn’t know that I secretly enjoy it and never will, or she’ll keep me up all night.
“Fine…if you pass me a breadstick.”
“Heads up.” She throws the stick over the pots and I catch it before it hits the floor, almost slipping from the bit of water on the ground.
“Jeez, Mom. What about kitchen safety and all that shit.”
“Did you get hurt?” she asks dryly.
“No.”
“Then you and the kitchen are safe,” she justifies and flicks a wooden spoon in the air, causing more sauce to land on the ground. I stuff the breadstick into my mouth, my laugh now muffled.
“Elizabeth, do we have any—shit! Fuck!” A thud comes from the entrance, and I step away from the kitchen door. “Cameron, how many times are you going to put your duffle bag in the middle of the foyer? I almost fell flat on my ass!” he yells, bursting into the kitchen.
“You don’t need any help from the duffle bag to do that,” Mom mutters under her breath before tasting the sauce.
I snort. “Sorry, Dad.”
He narrows his eyes. “Yeah, you don’t look sorry to me.” Shrugging his jacket off, he reveals his usual work attire of a button-down shirt and tie.
“How you doin’, bud?”
My dad sets his briefcase down and gives me a hug, matching my height. He fixes his well-trimmed, brown hair that he uses way too many products on from fear of balding, which I make fun of him for constantly. A couple of years ago, he got a job as a real estate attorney, which is how we were able to afford the house. My mom used to be a full-time real estate agent, hence how they met, but she decided to take a break when we moved to Long Beach after I graduated high school.
“Doin’ well, Dad. You?”
“Same old. Classes good? Keeping those grades up?”
I finish off the breadstick. “Everything is good. Grades are great.”
My mom clears her throat loudly, drawing our attention to her side of the kitchen.
“Oh, sorry, honey.” Dad runs to kiss Mom, longer than I expected or wanted them to.
“Your son is in the house. You can continue when I leave in two days.” I feign a gagging sound when they break their kiss.
My mom slaps my arm. “Be grateful that your parents still love each other the way we do, not many kids have that.”
In all honesty, I know I’m lucky to have parents who are still so in love after being together for twenty-five years. But that doesn’t mean I need to see themexpressthat love.
“Wait a minute, I saw a breadstick in your hand when I got in here.” Dad searches the opposite side of the counter. “Where are the damn breadsticks?”
“Go long.” My mom flings one across the kitchen. Dad’s used to her stunts, and he catches it smoothly.
“Thanks, hon.”
