I gave Roscoe an uneasy stare before looking back at Adam, trying to use my body to block the cluelessly racist items on the far counter.
“Look at the cake!” Adam glared at Austin. “See? Roscoe gets it.”
Austin walked behind the counter and picked up the watermelon. “Yup. He sure does. Where the hell did you get a watermelon in October?”
“Oh shit, is that grape Kool-aid?” Again, Adam’s little tail wagged as he picked up a jug.
“Uh—yeah,” Roscoe said, now fully understanding what he’d done. “It’s got half a bottle of vodka in it.”
“I don’t know how that’s gonna taste, but I’m down for getting shit-faced.”
Roscoe and I looked at one another again, this time a little more relieved, but that was short-lived as Adam took it all in and grew quieter.
“Oh! I’ve got your gift,” I said as his once gleeful expression turned to a wide-eyed anger. “This was all Roscoe’s fault! He’s a redneck. A very stupid one.”
“I didn’t think nothin’ of it. I just thought about what I’d like to eat on my birthday. And back in Arkansas—”
“See?” I interrupted. “He’s stupid. Very, very stupid.”
Adam let out a sigh and smiled. “Well, I mean… it’s the thought that counts, I guess. But this is the most racist shit I’ve ever seen in my life.”
“Well, just wait until you try my chicken.” Roscoe held up a drumstick in front of Adam’s face, but the half-turn glared at him. “You know you want to.”
Adam snatched the chicken away and took a huge bite. “You’re a fucking stupid hick.”
Roscoe grinned and leaned in, flashing his brows. “Well?”
The half-turn closed his eyes and let out the longest sigh. “It’s good. It’s the best fucking thing I’ve ever eaten in my life.”
“Happy birthday, ya little scamp.”
“Happy birthday, Adam,” I said, handing him the card.
The half-turn held the envelope up his nose. “I smell cash!” He kissed me on the cheek. “If this card has a watermelon on it, I’m going to punch you through the wall.”
“It does not.” I looked around for Austin, but he had slipped unnoticed out of the kitchen during the commotion. “Where’s Austin?”
“Probably hiding in his garage,” Adam said with more resentment. “He never remembers my birthday, and he never gets me anything.”
“Do you ever get him anything?” I asked.
Adam didn’t respond.
“You know, someone’s got to make the effort here. Do you even know when Austin’s birthday is?”
“Uh… April, I think? Maybe it’s May.”
“It’s August first,” the large werewolf said as he walked back into the kitchen holding a sloppily wrapped box before placing it on the counter. He leaned into Adam and grabbed both of his arms. “I’m not the easiest person to live with, and I’m sorry.”
Adam looked away for a moment, almost as if embarrassed. “I guess… I’m not that easy to live with either.”
The werewolf locked lips with Adam for a few seconds before pulling away and walking out toward the dining room. He looked back for a moment and disappeared into the garage.
After examining the box, Adam started to unwrap it. “This is the first gift he’s ever given me.” He opened it and let out a childlike laugh before pulling out a stuffed white bear wearing armor. “How the hell did he get this?”
“What is that?”
“It’s Pawlibear! He’s my favorite champion in—it’s one of my games.”
