We had potato salad, pasta salad with pepperoni in it, mac-n-cheese, and some other shit that smelled amazing.
Wiping her hands on a dish towel, Ma looked around the kitchen with satisfaction. “I still can’t believe how big this place is.”
“Pretty big,” I agreed.
“That’s what she said,” Dash mumbled from the fridge.
Ma snapped her towel, making him jerk back. “Get out of there. Supper is almost ready.”
She’d adjusted better than I had expected.
Better than Reid, that was for sure.
He’d been slinking around, moaning and bitching about everything. It was too hot, there was nothing to do, it was too quiet. There was no making him happy.
Like he’d been summoned by my thoughts, the back door banged open, and in stalked my spawn with his signature frown. “This town sucks.”
“It’s not that bad,” I said, eyeing his hair that was two weeks overdue for a cut.
He threw his hands up. “Dad. Seriously. There’s nothing to do here, and everyone sucks.”
Ma hid her smile as she continued to mash the potatoes.
“Everyone doesn’t suck.”
Seriously? Was every sixteen year old boy as overdramatic as mine?
“You know what I mean.”
I did, but I didn’t care.
He let out a dramatic sigh. “Boston is better than this place.”
I told him the same thing I’d been saying for two days. “We ain’t in Boston anymore, Toto.”
I didn’t know how much clearer I could be. We weren’t going back to Boston. This was our home now, and we all had to make the best of it. Including him.
“You know,” I started, setting my beer down to cross my arms over my chest. “If you’re so bored, you can go to the house and finish putting away all your shit.”
Reid groaned. “Dad?—”
“Then stop bitching.” I was tired of hearing it.
He muttered something under his breath, which was probably him cussing me out, then snatched up his backpack and stomped out the door.
“Jesus,” I groaned. “He do that shit all the time with you?”
Ma shrugged like she was used to it. “He’s just like you were at that age.”
I snorted. “I was never that bad.”
She snorted. “You were worse.”
“That sounds made up.”
“It’s not.”
The kitchen door opened again, and in stepped Jekyll, carrying a tray stacked with barbecue that smelled fucking amazing.
