Chapter 4

We got to the house. Tristan was slouched so far down in the seat, the recently added seatbelt was around his forehead. Mom was good to go and leaped out of the car before I even came to a stop. Mom had her own key, of course, and went on inside. I gathered up my things and stuffed them back into the duffel bag. Some of the condoms I’d brought were missing. “Fuck it,” I snorted, forgetting about my nephew. “Here,” I shoved the rest at him, “You’ll probably need these before I will.”

He took them but didn’t budge. “Aren’t you eager to get home?” I asked. “Should I have dropped you off?”

“I live here, now. Mom said I have to take care of Grandma now. Dad said I’m a pussy-whipped momma’s boy and, until I get over this sissy stage, I’m not stepping foot in hishouse.”

“Well, can you cook?” I asked.

“No, can you?”

“I work in a restaurant. Of course I can…six gallons of tomato soup…ah, eighty pounds of hamburger…no. I can’t cook.”