Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 66267 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 331(@200wpm)___ 265(@250wpm)___ 221(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66267 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 331(@200wpm)___ 265(@250wpm)___ 221(@300wpm)
Aunt Brandi coos loudly from her glass, “That story can’t get any sweeter.”
“Definitely sweeter than ours,” Uncle Brett lightly chortles. “I will say that Brandi getting stuck with me as her mystery auction date instead of my teammate who had gotten food poisoning kind of feels like Fate intervened for us too.”
Thoughts of how my parents met suddenly come rushing back to mind and recalling my dad introducing me to the notion of Fate itself has me needing some space.
Distance.
Air.
Simply away from hearing some man who will never be my father claim his woman in a similar nature.
As if June can sense my need to bail, she flexes her fingers to keep me pinned in place at the same time she warmly states, “Very sweet. Both stories actually.”
“Tuck actually painted us the story,” Aunt Brandi reminds, smile stretching from ear to ear. “That’s one of those things he loves to do. Hear a story and then paint it.” She offers me an adoring grin that drops my tense shoulders. “I’ll have you know it’s still hung up in my home office right next to my display of first editions about Dalí and Warhol.”
“You know that painting,” June points to the Pop Art rendering of a blown-out tire with the index finger not resting near mine, “feels like it could be your work.” Her gaze meets mine. “Little shallower on the brushstrokes than the ones you do now but the signature motion is the same.”
Awe can’t stay out of my voice. “You know what my strokes look like?”
She bashfully beams while nodding.
“You know if I said that shit someone would blow a whistle for me being too sexual at the table,” Uncle Brett playfully proclaims.
“That’s because you’re a hockey head and not an artist,” his wife teases in return.
“It is his work,” Mom states from the opposite end of the table. “It was a tribute to how my late husband and I met.”
“It’s intriguing,” Richard pipes up after swallowing whatever’s in his mouth. “And it captures the story to a tee.”
“How the fuck would you know?” I practically bark back.
“I know how they met.” He tips his chin up a little higher. “I know how he had a temp job at one of the Frost hotels while waiting to start bootcamp and was late to work that day because he stopped on the side of the road to change Brit’s tire. I know that hotel was on her list for corporate check ins that day and that she never expected to see him again let alone be the reason he was getting fired. I know they felt like that was Fate showing them they belong together. I know that your father was an orphan who bounced around the foster care system and took The Frost name because he wanted to be unified with the family who had welcomed him with open arms. I know how much Brit and Michael loved and cared about each other. You. And I know how important your relationship with him was.”
“You don’t know shit,” is spewed through gritted teeth.
“You know, June, it’s impressive you can spot his work like that,” Mom scrambles to regain control of the conversation. “Most people haven’t seen it enough to even know how to search for his illusive signature let alone his brushwork.”
There’s no stopping me from defensively biting, “June’s not most people, mother.”
“And neither is Richard, Tucker,” the woman who gave birth to me fights back.
“You think because you told Dr. Dickhead over there-”
“Tucker!” Aunt Brandi screeches at the top of her lungs.
“-about how you met Dad that makes him fucking special? No. Dad was special. Dad gave a shit about you. About me. About this fucking family every opportunity he had. He didn’t have to sit at the head of the table for us to know how important he was. He didn’t have to go to every who’s pretending to give a shit about who Gala for us to know where his values were. And he damn sure didn’t have to put a blood diamond the size of fucking Antarctica on your hand for you to know that he worshipped the ground you walked on.”
A tiny hiss escape Uncle Brett, “Tuck-”
“You know what? Maybe all this talk about Fate is just what I needed. Maybe Antarctica is where the goddess of Fate wants me to go next.” Aggressively standing up is done on another bitter snap, “Maybe I’ll find a family of penguins willing to adopt me. I have little doubt that that mother would be a better one than you.”
“Enough!” June squeaks in outrage.
“If that wasn’t a misconduct penalty then I don’t know what the fuck was,” Uncle Brett quietly mutters to his wife.
“I agree,” Richard firmly speaks up, clutching his fiancée’s hand. “I think that’s enough.”
“Good because I’ve fucking had enough.” Dropping my glare down to June, I practically hiss, “Can we fucking go now?”