Winter Solstice in St. Nacho's (St. Nacho's #5) - Z.A. Maxfield Page 0,38
took out a pitcher of lemonade. “I use both all the time.”
“Glad to hear I got you something useful for a change.” With four kids, they had cupboards full of “World’s Best” mugs, scented candles, and picture frames.
“Oh, you know what?” Mom blinked like she’d just remembered something. “You got a letter at the shop.”
“Me?” I asked.
“Let me get it.” Mom left the room, and Dad and I made eye contact, which amounted to a mutual decision to crack open the IPAs for tasting purposes.
“Oh my God, that’s good.” Dad winced at the slightly strong, slightly bitter hoppy flavor. “Why’d you pick this one?”
I chose to prevaricate. “Aren’t you the one who likes an IPA?”
“Yeah. They’re so refreshing.” He sighed. “Your mom keeps trying to get me to drink her home-brewed kombucha. Have you ever seen a kombucha mother? Swear to God it’s from the movie The Blob.”
“I heard that.” Mom breezed in with a standard-size business envelope. She gave it to me and picked up her lemonade. “Who uses snail mail anymore?”
“People in prison?” Dad smirked. “Do you have an incarcerated pen pal?”
“Oh, sure.” I winked. “I answered an ad. ‘Lonely guy looking for conjugal visits. Aichmophobics need not reply.’”
Lemonade spewed from my mother’s mouth. “Oh my God! Don’t do that while I’m drinking.”
My dad laughed helplessly. “Remember when Ben made that game about his phobias for school? With the spin dial?”
“How can I forget?” She winced. “He was devastated no one wanted to play it.”
I read the return address on the envelope: Tug. Of course. I’d given him stamps, and apparently, he’d figured out how to use them.
I opened and read the letter, laughed at the postscripts, and made up my mind to tell my parents what it meant. “It’s from Thuong.”
“Thuong?” My mother’s eyes widened. “Our Thuong?”
“Thuong’s in prison?” asked Dad.
“He is not.” Irritation may have crept into my voice. “He’s in rehab.”
“Oh no.” Mom glanced at Dad, and of course, they moved together. Watching them unconsciously reach for each other when they got bad news was hashtag couple goals. My parents might have been part of the reason why I was still single. I had impossibly high standards because they set the goddamn bar so high.
“He’s working to get better.”
Dad said, “Did you know about this before the letter?”
I nodded and shared what had happened at the library and how I’d called Echo for help.
“Oh, honey.” Mom enveloped me in a warm hug. “That must have been so frightening for you.”
“I didn’t know you could do something like that.” Dad picked up his beer. Put it down again. “Are you saying you carry Narcan all the time in case there’s an emergency?”
I nodded. “Since I was an RA.”
“Wow.” My mother sat heavily at the wooden breakfast table. “I had no clue. Was this the first time you had to use it.”
“No.”
“Jesus. What a world.” Dad sat beside Mom with his arm around her chair. “So was Echo able to help Thuong?”
“Thuong goes by Tug now, and yeah. Echo got him into a good program, and he recently made thirty days. I saw him a couple weeks ago. He looks a lot better.”
“Holy cow.” Mom sighed. “I knew Thuong’s family wasn’t awesome, but I never imagined anything like this in his future.”
Dad nodded. “Thank goodness you found him in time.”
“It’s fate.” Mom met Dad’s gaze with flinty new determination. “This means he’s ours now.”
“Mmhmm.” Dad simply lifted one brow and picked up his beer. “Damn right.”
“Uh, what?” Aaaaand they’d emotionally adopted Tug, right there at the table where I’d eaten breakfast for over half my life. I wasn’t surprised they went there. Only that they put it quite so baldly.
“We’re going to need that address, hon.” Mom sipped her lemonade.
“What does he say?” Dad reached for the envelope I still held while I reread the letter.
I pulled it away playfully. “What if it’s personal?”
Mom made a fizzy noise. “You wouldn’t have told us anything about this if it was personal.”
Damn it, she was right. I could be a vault even when people spilled their tea in the hope I’d share so they wouldn’t have to.
I scanned the contents one more time before sliding the letter across the table for them to read.
“What’s that about a steering wheel?” asked Dad.
“He’s giving me a hard time about buying him postage stamps.”
Mom’s lips twitched. “He’s still a little snot, huh?”
I shook my head. “He’s all grown-up now. My height, thinner build.”