“This week,” I said with a shrug and leaned against the counter.
“Brandon,” my mom’s tone was one of warning as she walked toward the open doors that led to the backyard with L.A. in the distant background.
The guy’s cocky expression had fallen, but he raised an eyebrow at me. I tore open my granola bar and took a bite. As my mom carried on with her phone call, I stared at him.
“She’s got a different guy each week,” I told him.
“Brandon,” my mom scolded as she pulled the phone away from her ear. “Knock it off. Eat your breakfast.”
When she put the phone back to her ear, I smirked and gestured over my shoulder toward the entryway with my thumb as I looked at the guy. “Our front door is a revolving one. Those sheets you slept on last night probably still had the last guy on them.” I made air quotations with two fingers on each of my hands when I said ‘slept’ to insinuate that even though I was just sixteen, I knew better than to think they actually slept. “So, okay”—I shrugged again while eating the last bite of the granola bar—“if you insist on being the ‘honey’ this week; go right ahead. But heads-up, she often calls me ‘honey’ too.”
I tossed the wrapper in the trash can and opened the fridge to grab a bottle of juice. I wasn’t going to have some dick come into my house and disrespect me. My mom ended her phone call and set her cell down on the granite counter.
“Dammit, Brandon!” she yelled.
“What? It’s the truth; why are you acting like it’s not?”
“Hey, buddy. Calm down. There’s no need to disrespect your mother,” the guy said.
“Seriously? This is my house! You’re the one coming in here acting like you own the place and telling me that she was talking to you when she said ‘honey.’”
The guy laughed and looked at my mom as she swore at me again.
“Brandon! His name is Honey!” I stared at her and then at the bald guy, who happened to have a tan the color of honey. “That’s his camera name, Brandon.”
Oh. What a fucking dumbass name.
“Apologize to him for your behavior,” my mom demanded. “Now!”
I sighed, finished my juice, tossed the bottle in the trash can, and then said, “Sorry, man.” I turned to open the fridge to find something to take for lunch, but there wasn’t any lunch meat or anything that would hold me over through track practice after school.
“Shit, sorry, Brandon. Isn’t there anything in there for a sandwich?”
“No. But there was last night, though,” I huffed out and leaned on the counter, staring at Honey. I heard them down here laughing and making all sorts of noise last night.
“We had a little snack last night. I didn’t realize it was all we had in there,” my mom said as she pulled out drawers and pretended to look for food that she knew wasn’t there. “Brandon, what shoes are you wearing with that outfit?” she asked, suddenly horrified with what I had on. I looked down and stared at the Vans as I rolled my feet to the sides. “Brandon, your dark gray Chukkas would have been a much better choice,” she said and walked away from the fridge. She went to her purse that rivaled the size of a carry-on travel bag and retrieved her pocketbook.
“Today is track practice for the meet on Friday,” I reminded her and opened the fridge to pull out some fruit to take. It was also a subtle reminder about the track meet, so she’d remember to attend. I was running anchor for our team, and she promised to be there.
“I told you that I am sorry about the lunch stuff. I’ll give you lunch money,” she offered.
“What? I can’t eat school lunch. No one eats school lunch. That’s like, child abuse or something.” I frowned and slammed the fridge. My mood had gone south since I’d come into the kitchen, and it wasn’t getting any better.
“Brandon! I am so sick of these rough mornings with you!”
“Maybe if you could think of me for once, and not all these guys you bring home and get drunk with, then maybe we wouldn’t have these rough mornings.” I put the fruit and a few bottles of water into my insulated lunch bag. “Dad wouldn’t do the crap you’re doing,” I muttered.
“What? What did you say, young man?” she challenged.
“I said that my dad wouldn’t be doing all this crap and parties!” I yelled and gestured at Honey.
“Really, Brandon? My work is crap to you? My crap provides a mansion for you to live in on the hills with a view of the city. My crap clothes you in the finest, in-style fashions so you don’t look like a pound puppy. You go to one of the best schools in the city and drive a ninety thousand-dollar BMW to get there. You have everything under the goddamn sun! I have news for you, Brandon Calvin Cooper, your dad didn’t do any of this for you. He hasn’t been anything to you. So you adjust that goddamn attitude of yours before you come home tonight; do you understand me?”
I glared at her and then at the wad of twenties she held out to me for lunch money. Was she really this clueless? She smacked my shoulder with the hand that held the money. To her, money always made everything better. Who the fuck gives a kid five twenty-dollar bills for lunch money?
“I asked if you understood me, Brandon?” she repeated her question.
“Yep,” I said and grabbed my lunch bag and left the kitchen, leaving her with the wad of money.
