She chuckles. “Don’t blame your lead foot on me. We both know you got that from your father.”
A gravelly laugh fills my truck cab. “No one would believe it if I tried to tell them otherwise. You’re a saint for putting up with that man and then having four kids just like him,” I tease. My dad had a wild streak a mile wide growing up, and everyone said my mom was crazy getting together with him. The truth is—and he’d be the first person to admit this—it took the love of a good woman to help him grow up and settle down. Now, he’s a damn good father and husband.
“Well, if the crown fits…”
I bark out another laugh.
The drive back to Cooper Town goes quickly, thanks to chatting with Mom. We catch up on what’s happening with my siblings, my parents, and even their neighbors. By the time I reach the welcome sign at the edge of town, I feel pretty relaxed,yet alert, thanks to her. I mean, I haven’t once thought about the woman who shall not be named in the last hour. That might actually be a record.
“I’m getting ready to pull into my driveway,” I tell Mom, turning my truck onto Oak Street.
“Good. Go inside and heat up some breakfast, take a shower, and go to bed. Don’t forget to set an alarm for five.”
Smiling, I reply, “Yes, Mom.”
“Don’t sass me, Collin Andrew Miller.”
“I wouldn’t dare,” I respond, earning another bark of laughter through the speaker.
“Right,” she sasses, not believing it for a second. “Anyway, get some rest, and we’ll see you later.”
I pull into my driveway and park in front of the garage. No reason to put it away when I’ll be leaving again later. “Sounds good.”
“Love you,” she states, which I repeat before we disconnect.
Grabbing my duffel bag off the seat behind me, I head for my back door and step inside. Familiarity wraps around me, like it always does when I get home after a two-day shift. I drop my bag in front of the washer to deal with later and go straight to the fridge. The container inside has a Post-it on top with a heart, and like always, it makes me grin.
I rip off the note and set it on the counter before placing the plastic container in the microwave and pressing the button for one minute. I don’t even wait for the beep. The food is still cold after about thirty seconds, but I don’t care. I’m starved. I grab a fork and dive in, closing my eyes and savoring the first bite of homemade biscuits and gravy.
Thank God for Mom.
It’s loud before I even have one foot inside the door.
“’Bout time you got here,” my youngest brother, Camden, hollers when I enter the kitchen.
I glance at my watch. “Dinner’s at six,” I remind him, noting I’m fifteen minutes early.
“Yeah, but the food’s ready now and we’ve been waiting on you,” he argues, reaching his hand inside the chip bag and pulling out a fistful.
Ignoring his obnoxious chewing, I head for my sister and press a kiss to her cheek. “Happy birthday, brat.”
Charli rolls her eyes. “I’m twenty-nine.”
“And still a brat,” I argue, setting a card in front of her.
She immediately rips into it, not even bothering to wait until later, where there usually is a designated time to open gifts around the consumption of cake. “Oh, thanks,” she says, shaking the gift cards out of the card without even reading the message.
“You’re not even gonna read it?” I ask. “I spent all that time picking out the perfect card.”
Lies. I literally just grabbed one.
My sister just rolls her eyes a second time. “I call bullshit. You just grabbed a card. Wanna know how I know?”
I take a seat and wave my hand. “Enlighten me.”
She holds it up and points to the big gold letters on the front of the card that read “Happy Birthday, Granddaughter.”
I bark out a laugh and reach for some chips. “You may have a point.”
