The future that Grams swears will be more than stacking boxes at a small-town store and marrying the prom queen – who he knocked up their senior year – because he’shere.
Where there’s more structure and more guidance and more discipline.
You know.
All the things teens typically hate you for.
“Um…” Bronny guiltily grumbles at the same time he rocks on his heels, “I didn’t know you were that close.”
“Next time, let’s look before we shout. Okay?”
He nods.
“Now,” Joey’s advice on how to parent pops back into my mind prompting me to suggest, “I would like totalkabout the boots sitch.” It’s hard to resist folding my arms across my chest; however, I have to refrain. I have to appear open and inviting in my body language to welcome an open and honest conversation. “Talk not argue.”
“No one ever listens to me when I talk,” he grumps.
The urge to do the very thing I just said I didn’t want to do immediately taps itself on my shoulder.
We don’t listen to him?!
That’s why we stayed up late to helphimmake an Ooey Gooey butter cake for his history class because justbuyingone would be an insult to Grams or like spitting on his Gramps grave, which he wasn’t willing to do.
That’s why Thayne had Dubs rush ship him a custom cowboy hat for their Dalvegan family photo.
That’s why I ditched my brother for a lunch date yesterday to bringhima pair of tennis shoes – he texted, begged me for – so thathecould try out for the lacrosse team after school.
Because weneverlisten to him.
Fucking teens.
I swear.
Spears…please, make me stronger than yesterday.
“I’m listening,” I calmly reassure. “Talk to me. Tell me why don’t you wanna wear your boots.”
“’Cause it’s cringe.”
And somehow saying the word instead of making the face is cool?
Um…drips?
See.
I don’t like that.
It feels dirty and gross and like I’m describing a tooth abscess.
“Becausethey’recringe – wrong type or color or style – or because wearing boots in general now is cringe?”
My seeking of clarification causes him to twitch a glare. “’Cause matchin’ with a bunch of other people is so dumb.”
Ah.
Probably should’ve suspected there’d be a bit of pushback when the Slayers insisted we all do something cutesy like this for opening night, but in my defense, I was more focused on how excited I was to be able to beincludedin my first official Slayer moment, even if everyone knowsnotto publicly label me as one.
Not yet.
