Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 66977 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 335(@200wpm)___ 268(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66977 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 335(@200wpm)___ 268(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
Rounds of “aw” have my eyelids flying back open again to see my mother adoringly grinning. “That answer is a match. Your team receives a point.”
Dad snickers and marks the scoreboard while T grouses, “Stop making us look so bad, asshole.”
“You’re doing that all on your own,” Mr. C chortles causing Dad to laugh louder.
“Angel Cake,” Slater adoringly coos over my shoulder, blue wording wrapping around me just as affectionally, “think about what you want me to buy you with T’s money.”
Maybe we should give it to Tamura to invest in his business!
“What money?” Hildy immediately questions. “He owes you money?”
“He’s gonna,” Cowboy confidently states.
“Hilda,” our mother calls out, “you’re up!”
The mismatched set of answers isn’t a surprise nor is her unhappy handwaving.
More cycles of questions flow out of the bowl, some getting fits of laughter, others getting fits of frustration, but all, relatively fun in some capacity.
Except to my brothers who are losing.
Embarrassingly so.
Regardless of Slater’s perfect goal average, he never looks smug, and he never sounds cocky, and he never talks shit back to the two men who relentlessly are. He simply maintains his focus as though this game is now the most important assignment he’s agreed to take.
I just want to remind him that we don’t have an actual trivia game division at HE.
But if we did?
He would easily be one of the top operatives in it.
“Last question,” Mom declares, immediately receiving rounds of gratitude, “What did your significant other want to be when they grew up?” Answering starts at the furthest end yet when it gets to us, she says something unexpected. “Wahl…honey…you have to turn your board over.”
“I um…I know…it’s jus’…” Trembling blue lettering whirls around my neck and chin and cheek until its turned my stare to meet his. “I…honestly…don’t…know the answer.”
Needing to comfort his obvious ache of not knowing, of feeling like he let me down, leads to me gently pressing a hand on his leg. “It’s okay that you don’t know, Cowboy. It just means there’s still shit for us to learn about each other.”
“And that’s a good thing,” Dad shouts from his position next to Mom.
My boyfriend flashes me a bashful beam that’s almost immediately blocked by my brother T. “I know the answer! Can I have his point too?!”
“Why?” Our father snaps in a snarky fashion. “Won’t make your losing any less embarrassing.”
“And it’s so embarrassing,” Hildy huffs hard enough to rearrange her sash.
“Wahl didn’t have an answer, which means Arley doesn’t have to answer, and that leads us to Nik and Monte.” She waves her palm their way. “Go ahead.”
Their matching answers allows the game to end on a positive note and my directing to where fresh food is entering the living room straight from the kitchen to occur. They offer to help tidy up their spaces, yet I politely reassure I’ll handle cleaning everything up. That they should just go inside and enjoy more refreshments. Perhaps dance or do one of the other self-guided activities before more group games. Both of my brothers are given earfuls from their loves along with our mother who is loudly ashamed about her sons’ behaviors.
The instant voices disappear behind the closed patio door, I expel a loud breath of relief.
Fuck, peopling is so exhausting.
This is why I didn’t want to host.
And this is also why I didn’t want to play.
Collecting the markers that were tossed all along the couch cushion is abruptly interrupted three writing utensils in. “Angel Cake?”
There’s no reluctance to reply. “Hm?”
“What’s the answer?”
I shift my stare to where the man I love is squatted down in the space in front of me.
“What did you wanna be when you grew up?”
“You,” a playful poke to the nose is presented, “wanted to be an astronaut.”
“I did.”
“And not because of E.T. like most kids but because of Mac and Me, which interestingly enough had plenty of rescue and recovery plot points that could easily add to the behavioral reasons you do rescue and recovery now.” My lips scrunch to one side of my face. “Er…Did. Will do again?”
“Angel Cake.”
Pressing my lips tightly together is mindlessly done.
“I now see I don’t have the answer to that because you don’t want me to.”
“That’s…a bit of an oversimplification.”
“Then unsimplify it.”
I clamp my mouth shut a second time.
“Why don’t you wanna tell me?” Pain struggles not to pump through his crystal gaze. “You worried that I won’t know what it is? ‘Cause I’m okay Googlin’ shit I gotta when I gotta. You know that.”
Light giggles bounce my shoulders.
“Was it an astrophysicist? A literal rocket scientist?”
The apprehension keeping me silent slowly starts to waver.
“Chemist? Mathematician? Cryptanalyst?”
“I love that you know what that is.”
“I know what that is because I love you.” He lovingly lets his hands land on my legs. “So, what’s the answer?”
A long, still beat precedes my eventual answer, “A veterinarian.”