Make Me Bad - R.S. Grey Page 0,33
of course, the checkout lines are insane because it’s Monday and apparently everyone needs groceries on Monday.
I make it home twenty minutes before Colten is due to come over and my father warns me he’s working the night shift, so I’ll have to hurry if I don’t want to make him late.
My dad carries in the groceries and I unload them, noticing his pill case on the counter. I’m unpacking the milk and yogurt when I ask if he’s taken his blood thinner yet.
“Yes.”
“Statin?”
“Yes.”
“What about your aspirin?”
“All right, kid, you got me. I forgot the aspirin.”
I send him a searing gaze over my shoulder and he throws his hands up as if to say, What are ya gonna do?
“I’ll take it in a second. Now what are you going to make? I took that lunch you made me to work and those tater tots tasted off.”
“They should—they’re cauliflower tots.”
He reacts as if I’ve just admitted to poisoning him. Then he spots the pasta I’m unloading and his complaints increase tenfold. “What’s this? Looks like a science experiment gone wrong.”
“It’s veggie pasta.”
“Oh no. Now you’ve really done it.”
His ensuing groan is deep and heartfelt, but I’m not swayed.
I yank it out of his hand and shoo him away from the stove. “I’ll still cover it in spaghetti sauce and ground turkey. You said last week that you couldn’t even taste the difference.”
“I was humoring you!” he shouts from the other room as he flips on the football game.
This is our routine: I try to fix healthy food for a father who would rather fill his arteries with cheeseburgers and French fries, and he protests every step of the way. I’d be shocked if he ever sat down for dinner and actually wanted to eat what I made him.
Colten’s usually better about not complaining. He’s a fit guy, after all, so he enjoys my healthier options. This meal is his favorite, and it’s no coincidence that I’ve chosen to make it tonight. I’m still trying to get back in his good graces, which yes, I’ll admit is absolutely ridiculous because I really didn’t do anything wrong, but that’s the problem with our family. We’re a screwed-up bunch. We don’t have the normal brother-sister-dad dynamic. I see them almost every day. We’re in each other’s business. We bother and poke and pester because we care, and I’m not going to throw in the towel just because Colten’s a little overbearing. I’m going to push back, gently, and see if I can’t carve out some newfound freedom for myself. I’ll have to do it slowly. In fact, I should probably carve with a spoon rather than a shovel.
I’ve thought a lot about what I would do with more freedom. For one, I’d move out. I told Ben I couldn’t move out because of what rent would cost, but that was a lie…kind of. I have some money saved up, more so now that my student loans are paid off. I could probably find a one-bedroom apartment. I check my savings account a lot, dream about taking the leap. Actually, the last time I checked, I’d even have enough for a down payment on a very shabby, very rundown house if I played my cards right.
I laugh sardonically. The idea that I would ever do something as insane as purchasing a house is too crazy to even consider. I’m the girl who still lives at home, who hangs out with her dad on Friday nights. I’m the bookworm, the person easily forgotten by everyone outside of her own family.
The back door opens and Colten steps in wearing his uniform, looking very sharp and snazzy. He sees me at the stove and smiles gently. I’m surprised. I was ready for another stern talking to, but it appears he’s ready to make peace after all.
“Hey Colt.”
He lifts his chin in greeting. “Whatcha cookin’?”
I hold up the veggie pasta. “Your favorite. It’ll be ready soon. Dad’s in there watching the game.”
That’s all we say to each other, no apologies or drawn-out explanations, but I know things are back to normal now.
I put the pasta on to boil and am browning the turkey when I realize I still haven’t texted Ben back. I have a few minutes to spare, so I retrieve my phone from my purse, open my texts, and reread his words.
He wants to continue.
Sure, I’ve technically forced him into this role as the devil on my shoulder, but if he didn’t want to do it, he