Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 47241 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 236(@200wpm)___ 189(@250wpm)___ 157(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 47241 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 236(@200wpm)___ 189(@250wpm)___ 157(@300wpm)
“Jeez, girl. I thought it was an emergency. You scared the shit out of me, and not in a fun way. I’m on that horror-cation, and I just watched an evil elf decapitate a snowman.”
So wrong. “Which celebrity!” I barked.
“I don’t know!” she barked back. “Maybe Henry Golding?”
My hand with the phone dropped to my side. Jason saw a man that looked like Beau’s dad, Shawna saw a Black guy, and Egypt saw the lead actor from Crazy Rich Asians.
I looked over my shoulder at the street where the white truck had just disappeared. What the fuck is going on?
“I gotta go.” I disconnected with Egypt and called my apartment, hoping Beau would answer, but it went to voicemail.
Of course, he’d be working.
I rushed inside and headed to my room, putting the gold keys in my desk drawer before pulling out my laptop. I did a quick search of every bakery in my neighborhood in the city. I came up with six.
I called the first two, but no one answered since it was after hours. But on the third one, I got a woman.
“Hi, hello. Is there a Beau Starling working there?”
“Uh, yes. He’s in the back.”
“Can I talk to him, please? Tell him it’s Meri. It’s an emergency,” I said, frantically pacing my pink carpet.
“Just a sec.”
After a long moment, Beau came on the line. “Meri?”
“Beau! What the freak is happening?” Why did I say freak? I meant fuck! “Some man just showed up to my parents’, claiming to be your dad. He gave me a set of keys and threatened me.”
“Son of a snowman.”
“Beau, don’t get cute with me. What’s going on?” I yelled. “Why does Shawna think you’re Black? Why does her sister think you’re Asian? What is this?”
He whooshed out a long breath. “I think you know what this is.”
“No, I freaking don’t.” Fucking! Fucking don’t. Why is my mouth not working?
“I cannot explain right now, but when you return, we can sit down, and I will—”
“I’m not coming back. I don’t feel safe around you.” I started tearing up. None of this made any sense.
“Please do not say that, Meri. I would never hurt you.”
“What about your dad, huh? What is he? Drug trafficker? Mafia? One of those weird cult members who turns everyone into eunuchs?” Very uncool. Penises were awesome.
“No. He’s not dangerous. Not the way you mean, anyway.”
“Oh, great. But he is dangerous. And he just threatened my entire family.” He’d said I had friends in high places, but he’d ruin our lives anyway. “I’m mailing you the keys, and then I want nothing to do with you.”
“No. I’ll be there in the morning to explain.”
“You stay away from me, you…shape-shifter.” I shook a finger at him even though he couldn’t see.
“Meri, I’m coming whether you like it or not.”
“If you care anything about me, you will leave me the heck alone.” Hell. Hell alone! Why can’t I say hell? “You and your creepy low-rent Santa dad need to stay away.”
Beau started chuckling.
He’s laughing? He’s fucking laughing?
My nostrils flared. “I can’t freaking believe you.” Fucking! Fucking believe. My mouth just couldn’t form the words. “And now I’m having a stroke. Awesome.”
“Just stay calm.” He chuckled again. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
I was about to yell at him some more, but he ended the call. I dialed back, but it went into the bakery’s voicemail.
“Son of a biscuit!” I yelled and then covered my mouth with my hand. Son of a bitch! Bitch! What’s the matter with me?
My mother appeared in my doorway. “You okay, honey?”
I was far from that. “Do you have any wine?” My parents were not big drinkers, but they usually had the holy grape juice around.
“Sure. But why don’t you tell me what’s going on?” she said.
“You wouldn’t believe me.” I scrubbed my face with my hands.
“We could check out my crucifix collection. I have two new editions.”
“Fine. I’ll talk.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“You…invited this ‘hobo’ to live with you?” Dad frowned from the comfort of his leather recliner by the fireplace, sipping his “decaf coffee,” which we all knew was spiked with a shot of scotch. He had very few vices, but this was his nightly ritual. Feet up. Fireplace or a good book. One shot. No one cared, but we all pretended not to know. A man needed his secrets, I guessed.
“I think it’s very kind,” Mom said, sitting next to me on the brown plaid couch, sipping her incredibly tiny glass of red wine. To her left was the big wall of crosses. Over the mantel were photos of the family—my brothers and their wives, their weddings, and all the grandkids. Then there was the sad framed photo of me, all alone in front of a tree.
I looked like such a loser.
I downed my second glass of wine and placed it on the pine coffee table in front of me. “You’re both completely missing the point. People literally forget what Beau looks like, and then they fill in the blanks with something else.”