And they had the nerve to try to call once again this evening too, as if they were aware I’d fucked up and wished to revel in my failures.
One of these days, I should block their numbers. I never answer, and I have no wish to continue a relationship with them, but for some reason, I never make that final step to rid myself of them fully.
Possibly I wish to have the occasional reminder of the kind of parent I don’t want to be.
Or possibly I enjoy torturing myself with the occasional spike in my own heart rate any time I see their names pop up on my phone.
Someone rustles in the dark, and I scowl at them too. “As I’ve made quite clear, you’ve been dismissed for the evening. I shan’t be eaten by lions or tigers or accosted by stalkers in my own back garden,” I snip at whichever security agent is coming to check on me after they should be off.
“Are you sure about that?” a woman replies.
I sit up straight. “Bea?”
“Stalker reporting for duty. Wanna be kidnapped? I bribed your guards with risotto and have strawberry shortcake for you. No cream. Just shortcakes and juicy, juicy strawberries that have been soaking into the shortcake since I left Ryker’s house. It’s undoubtedly delicious. Plus, fresh strawberries, right out of his garden.”
I’m uncertain if I should bless her or curse her.
My cock certainly is on thebless herside of the scales.
The rest of me though—my children attempted to steal her brother’s pet, and I was so embarrassed, and so very disappointed that a nice family evening had ended with my boys being complete hooligans, that I rushed us out of there without making a proper apology to him.
Were I her, I’d be delivering poisoned dessert to me right now.
She settles on the ground beside me, depositing a large, dark, rustling package on the ground before us as well.
“I waited outside the gate until I saw Lana’s car leave. You okay?”
“AmIokay—excuse me, but your family were the victims this evening.”
The bag rustles, and something inside clinks.
A bottle.
She’s brought bottles in addition to strawberry shortcake.
The shortcake is likely made with cream and butter and will cause me a fair bit of discomfort, which I undoubtedly deserve.
“Root beer or a summer shandy?” she asks me.
I peer at her in the darkness. “Are you aware those are two of my favorite beverages?”
“I cheated and googled you. Like a good stalker.”
“Do you have a preference?” I ask her.
“In search engines for stalking?”
“In beverages.”
She’s smiling at me. I can sense it. “I like them both.”
“Then surprise me, though I don’t believe I deserve either this evening.”
“Good answer. I don’t think I can tell them apart in the dark. Also, I like that you keep yourself humble. It makes you more bearable.”
That should be amusing, but I feel myself sighing. “Thank you for your kindness, but I’m afraid I intend to be rather poor company this evening.”
She passes me a bottle, essentially setting it upon my knee since I cannot see her nor the bottle in the darkness. Not with my eyes being what they are in the dark.
