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Dec. 7th, 2007 12:51 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
revieloutionneSo, you guys remember that story I posted a bit back? Here's where it stands now. It's the final draft for the class, but it's certainly open to being edited further. It has a new title, but I'm open to suggestions there, too.
Title: MotheRed
Word Count: 2,659
Summary: Randolph is leaving home for better Fields.
Warnings: Same as before, except now the scenes-in-summary have been replaced with, y'know, actual scene, so only the ununtentional-cannibalism and copypaste-from-Word apply.
After the cut, y0.
Randolph surveyed his now-empty room. He’d long since moved out his books, most of his clothes, everything he had on his walls, and so on, so that now all he had in his room was the duffel bag he’d been living out of for the past week and the furniture he was leaving behind. And the hat. He was leaving his mother the red cap.
He was leaving his mother.
Randolph had expected some kind of difference when his eighteenth birthday came and he was actually leaving, but he felt exactly the same two things about the matter as he had for the past months: he was leaving for his own well-being, and his mother had plenty of time to do something to stop him if she didn’t want him to go. In the three months since Randolph announced his intent to move out, his mother had spoken to him just enough less than usual to be noticeable. So, Randolph had added driving him from his house to the list of things he blamed her for, after her refusal to understand him on any lever, her refusal to acknowledge that Hunter wasn’t just a friend of his, her refusal to respond to his inability to eat food prepared by others in any way but mocking it, and her having finished out her business trip as scheduled after she was informed that Randolph had been traumatized by unknowingly eating part of his father.
On his bad days, Randolph wished it had been his mother instead.
Randolph slung the bag over his shoulder and left his room, expecting his mother to be at her desk, as always, sorting through paperwork she couldn’t leave at work and making highly impersonal calls to coworkers and clients. She wasn’t there.
His plans disrupted, Randolph now had nothing keeping him distracted from the part of his mind that had been worrying about Hunter all day. He’d have to get a ride from him, and then he’d be living with him, but they had fought the other day. He didn’t know if their two-day silence was because they were doing the usual stupid thing where they both had already cooled off from the argument in less than a day, but were waiting for the other to call first that usually lasted until Mrs. Fields came up with some pretext to bring Randolph to the house, or if they’d actually broken up. They’d never fought over anything that really mattered before, and this one was about a lot of things, really, and none insignificant.
They’d been in Randolph’s room, just finished with packing the last of his things, other than his duffel, and having a bit of rest before heading to Hunter’s house and unpacking it all.
Randolph lay wrong-way on the bed; Hunter sat at the foot of it, right next to his head and talking.
“So I have this awesome story-”
“Really?”
“What?”
“It’s just that… you say that a lot and it’s usually not true.”
“Red,” Hunter said, poking him in the middle of the forehead, “you realize you just sentenced yourself to the stories I decide are boring, right?”
“We can’t play this as me doing you a favor by letting you know when to judiciously self-edit?” This, thought Randolph, had been his first real error.
“No dice, Red,” Hunter said, with a light smack to his face. “So, getting on with it, I was stuck in the elevator at the mall-“
“You took an elevator one floor?”
“I was carrying a lot of stuff!”
“Yeah,” Randolph said as he sat up, “but that thing is farther from pretty much anywhere you want to go than the escalator.”
“I couldn’t see where the stairs appeared through my bags, so I couldn’t be sure I wouldn’t step on one of the cracks.”
“God, you’re not five anymore!” The full-body eye-roll had been a bad decision.
“So, I’m stuck in the elevator, Mr. I-Miss-The-Point, during the power outage yesterday, and there’s no one else in there and the emergency phone isn’t working-“
“But phones still work in outages.”
“Yeah, well apparently this one was broken. Can I tell my story?”
“I don’t know. Can you?”
“If you keep this up, I’m not letting you make any naan with mum.”
“Bastard. Go on, then.”
“Thank you. Anyway, there’s nothing to do, so I figured I’d take a nap and don’t you dare comment. I wound up having this really weird dream I’d had a couple times before, where it’s mostly normal, except your mom is lurking and watching everything.”
“That’s not creepy.” Hunter glared.
“Anyway, when we go to my kitchen, you mom finally just rushed you, stabs you in the heart, and then she starts bleeding from the chest and dies, and I’m just like, ‘Jesus Christ, subconscious, could you be more obvious?’”
“Maybe with a little work, I think.”
“Jesus Christ, Red. Be supportive? Anyway, in the dream I don’t even react, but when I wake up I realize that what she does in the dream is what she’s doing in real life and it’s kind of horrifying. Are you sure there isn’t anything we can do for her?”
“Why? She’s a failure of a parent and you know that.”
“And do you have to be so carefree about it? I mean I really think losing you is going to hurt her a lot, even if she doesn’t know so now.”
“Eh. If she really feels bad, she’ll say something.”
“But what if she doesn’t?”
“Why wouldn’t she? What possible reason could that woman have for not making any attempt if I’m moving out of her fucking house?”
“Because she might blame herself and thinks she deserves it? Because she’s obviously never known how to speak to you about her emotions? Because- You know what? I’m meddling. I have no right to make you try anything you’re apparently dead set against doing, so whatever. Elevator got fixed, I’m here, and now I’m going somewhere else so I can calm down. The end.”
“That was pretty much the most awful of all your bad stories.” He hadn’t meant it seriously. He really hadn’t, but it was one of those times where the joke came out in complete deadpan, because otherwise it wouldn’t work, and Hunter just hadn’t been in a state to catch that.
“Jesus Christ, Red!” said Hunter, forehead-poking again, viciously, “You’ve never been this bad. You either need to deal with your mom or stop your issues affecting your mood like this, because if you keep it up I’m not going to just accept your surly, insulting new self. Ta.” And then, for whatever reason, Randolph spoke.
“Hey, just in case I don’t see you before my eighteenth, I’ve got to ask you something.” Hunter stopped at the door. “Is it okay if I have everyone call me Red now?”
“I- That’s been my name for you, though.”
“I mean… your parents use it, too.”
“They don’t count, Red.”
“Really? Your parents are unimportant?”
“That’s not what I said and you know it.”
“It’s just- how- what gives you the right to decide who uses my name?”
“Because I gave it to you? Because you insisted no one else use it?”
“Yes! I insisted! Now I don’t! What’s the problem?”
“Fine, if you really want to, whatever. But don’t come over for dinner.” Hunter left. Randolph had been kicking himself since. He needed to call Hunter. First on the list, though, was finding his mother and actually leaving.
Randolph hadn’t expected to have to search for his mother to let her know he was leaving, but he wasn’t about to just leave unannounced. After all, if he wasn’t around to remind his mother he existed, this might be the last she saw of him. She’d always had to be reminded to spend time with family. Things had been a lot easier when Dad was alive, especially because Randolph was convinced his mother somehow blamed him for what happened.
Seven years go, Randolph lived in the same house, with the same mother who couldn’t connect with him, but his father was still around. When he could be, anyway, because he worked awkward late shifts. Most days he was home when Randolph got back from school, but he’d usually have to work not long after. He wanted to be home with Randolph more often, but he’d be fired if his boss found out he was interviewing elsewhere (it was a small business; they could get away with it), and the family couldn’t afford a long job search, so he stayed where he was, even though it meant he couldn’t see much of his son.
Randolph’s mother was out of town this week, on business. Randolph was upset, but it meant that he got to spend most nights down the street at Hunter’s, so it wasn’t too bad. Today, though, Dad wasn’t working, so he was coming right home after school.
He was ready to tell Dad all about how at school, a bully made fun of him for wearing the bright red cap his mother had given him when he was little, and when he knocked Randolph down, his glasses broke, but when he got home Dad wasn’t out front waiting like he usually was.
When Randolph called for him inside, he sounded hoarse. Since Dad was sick, and he couldn’t see the TV anyway, Randolph played in the backyard until dinner. The meat was unusual and the drink Dad gave him (he usually got to pour his own) was dark, thick, and he thought it tasted a bit like metal. Strange though the meal was, Randolph thought it was delicious and asked Dad what it was. “If I told you,” Dad said, still hoarse, “you’d go and tell other people, and that would ruin how special this meal is.”
After Randolph got ready for bed (early, because it was too dark to go outside, and he couldn’t see clearly enough to have any fun), he found Dad in the bed. “It’s early for you to go to bed, so I thought I’d keep you company if you weren’t tired,” was Dad’s reasoning, which struck Randolph as unlike him, but it still made a sort of sense.
When Dad said that it was getting warm (which it was), and that maybe Randolph should take off his shirt, Randolph knew that Dad was definitely not himself, because Dad knew Randolph had that patch of not-quite-scarred, not-quite-normal skin on his back from when he fell of his bike that Randolph hated letting anyone see. So, he made up the first reason to leave the house he could think of. He’d go to Hunter’s and maybe Hunter’s parents would know what to do about Dad.
“I have to pee.”
“Just go in the bed, we can clean the sheets later.”
“That’s really, really gross, Dad.”
“You get older, gross gets redefined.”
“Well, I’m not older.”
“Okay, fine. Go to the bathroom.”
Randolph went down the hall, shut the bathroom door without going in, fled to Hunter’s, and told Mrs. Fields what had happened.
It turned out that “Dad” had been Henry “Wolf” Perrault, who had been fleeing the authorities for some time. It took three tries before a cop could be found who was able to answer Randolph when he asked where that meant Dad was; “dinner” had been Dad. His mother didn’t come home until her trip ended as planned, even though Randolph had suddenly found himself unable to eat and was visiting the hospital daily as a result.
Which is why he was so shocked now to find her waiting at the door, though still emotionally disconnected as ever.
“You’re really going?”
“Yeah. I thought that was obvious, but yeah.”
“Hunter’s parents have no problem with you living there?”
“I kind of have been for that past few years anyway, and I’ll have my own room and everything. His parents are pretty cool with things, but they’re not stupid. Besides, I’ll be cooking for them a lot, so it’s not like I’m a complete moocher.”
“They like that weird stuff you make?”
“It’s Indian food, not ‘weird stuff,’ and I learned how to make most of it from Mrs. Fields, ‘cause she’s Indian and all.”
“Oh.”
“You’re welcome to visit, you know.”
“I might.”
“Don’t lie.”
“You didn’t have to say that.”
“Neither did you.”
“I want to fix this!”
“You say that, but I’ve never once seen a sign of it. Besides, it’s far too late to fix this.”
“Don’t say that!”
“Why? Because it hurts? That never stopped you.”
The silence that followed was comfortably awkward for Randolph. He didn’t know if it was for his mother, though, so after some time he walked out to the porch. She shut the door and he heard her walking away. All that was left was to call Hunter for a ride over. The house he’d moved to a couple years back was better for the Fields’, but not in walking distance.
“Red? Why are you calling?”
“Can you come pick me up?”
“Oh! Oh shit, man that was today! Why didn’t you remind me, Red? I mean, I think you’re being silly about it, but that doesn’t mean I meant to stop you or anything. I was so focused on having argued I forgot how soon you were- Gah.”
“It’s okay, really. Just get out here so I don’t have to sit out on the porch for forever, okay?”
“You already walked out? I wasn’t there for moral support? I-“
“Seriously. It’s okay. Just get here.”
“Okay, I will. And I was stupid about the Red thing. Of course other people can call you Red if you want them to. It’s not my place to say, it’s just that I was already upset, and-“
“We can talk about this in the car Hunter, it’s fine.”
“Oh! Right. I’m on my way.”
“Sweet.”
“Hang on, my mom wants to talk.”
“Just leave the phone with her and start driving. Oh, and by the way? You’re totally crap at making dreams up.”
“Yeah… cut me some slack, okay? I never had to before. Anyway, driving! Bye.”
“Ta.”
“Red?”
“Hey, Mrs. Fields.”
“Please, you’re going to be living with me. Stop calling me that.”
“Fine. Hey, Kavita.” Her hand hitting her forehead was audible through the phone.
“I was angling for ‘Mom,’ but I guess that’ll do.”
“So, you wanted to speak to me?”
“I just wanted to be sure you were really coming here for certain, because who knows what might have happened when you said goodbye to your mother and all. Wait, have you yet?”
“Yeah, I have. And yes, I’m still coming to stay.”
“Okay. That’s all I needed to know.”
“See you soon, then?”
“Well, there was also something I needed to tell you.”
“Yeah?”
“If you keep up that stupid ‘we’re not talking’ thing when you actually live in the same house as my son, I will personally knock the stupid out of your head. Got me?”
“I think. You knock the stupid out, though, and what’s going to be left?”
“Your cooking skills? That’s all I like you for anyway, you know.”
“Uh-huh. Giving your son someone else to talk at for a few hours a day has nothing to do with your love for me?”
“Watch it, Red. I’m game to insult you all I want, but that’s my baby.”
“Who never shuts up.”
“Point. Anyway, I’ve got things to do before you get here, so I’ll let you go.”
“Wait. You’re not cleaning the house for-”
“Ta.”
“-me?”
It wasn’t long before Hunter pulled into the driveway. He dropped the duffel in the backseat and then got in the car.
“Hey, where’s your hat?”
“Doesn’t really fit anymore. I can get a new one.”
Red looked back at the house as they turned onto the street, and then it was behind him.
Title: MotheRed
Word Count: 2,659
Summary: Randolph is leaving home for better Fields.
Warnings: Same as before, except now the scenes-in-summary have been replaced with, y'know, actual scene, so only the ununtentional-cannibalism and copypaste-from-Word apply.
After the cut, y0.
Randolph surveyed his now-empty room. He’d long since moved out his books, most of his clothes, everything he had on his walls, and so on, so that now all he had in his room was the duffel bag he’d been living out of for the past week and the furniture he was leaving behind. And the hat. He was leaving his mother the red cap.
He was leaving his mother.
Randolph had expected some kind of difference when his eighteenth birthday came and he was actually leaving, but he felt exactly the same two things about the matter as he had for the past months: he was leaving for his own well-being, and his mother had plenty of time to do something to stop him if she didn’t want him to go. In the three months since Randolph announced his intent to move out, his mother had spoken to him just enough less than usual to be noticeable. So, Randolph had added driving him from his house to the list of things he blamed her for, after her refusal to understand him on any lever, her refusal to acknowledge that Hunter wasn’t just a friend of his, her refusal to respond to his inability to eat food prepared by others in any way but mocking it, and her having finished out her business trip as scheduled after she was informed that Randolph had been traumatized by unknowingly eating part of his father.
On his bad days, Randolph wished it had been his mother instead.
Randolph slung the bag over his shoulder and left his room, expecting his mother to be at her desk, as always, sorting through paperwork she couldn’t leave at work and making highly impersonal calls to coworkers and clients. She wasn’t there.
His plans disrupted, Randolph now had nothing keeping him distracted from the part of his mind that had been worrying about Hunter all day. He’d have to get a ride from him, and then he’d be living with him, but they had fought the other day. He didn’t know if their two-day silence was because they were doing the usual stupid thing where they both had already cooled off from the argument in less than a day, but were waiting for the other to call first that usually lasted until Mrs. Fields came up with some pretext to bring Randolph to the house, or if they’d actually broken up. They’d never fought over anything that really mattered before, and this one was about a lot of things, really, and none insignificant.
They’d been in Randolph’s room, just finished with packing the last of his things, other than his duffel, and having a bit of rest before heading to Hunter’s house and unpacking it all.
Randolph lay wrong-way on the bed; Hunter sat at the foot of it, right next to his head and talking.
“So I have this awesome story-”
“Really?”
“What?”
“It’s just that… you say that a lot and it’s usually not true.”
“Red,” Hunter said, poking him in the middle of the forehead, “you realize you just sentenced yourself to the stories I decide are boring, right?”
“We can’t play this as me doing you a favor by letting you know when to judiciously self-edit?” This, thought Randolph, had been his first real error.
“No dice, Red,” Hunter said, with a light smack to his face. “So, getting on with it, I was stuck in the elevator at the mall-“
“You took an elevator one floor?”
“I was carrying a lot of stuff!”
“Yeah,” Randolph said as he sat up, “but that thing is farther from pretty much anywhere you want to go than the escalator.”
“I couldn’t see where the stairs appeared through my bags, so I couldn’t be sure I wouldn’t step on one of the cracks.”
“God, you’re not five anymore!” The full-body eye-roll had been a bad decision.
“So, I’m stuck in the elevator, Mr. I-Miss-The-Point, during the power outage yesterday, and there’s no one else in there and the emergency phone isn’t working-“
“But phones still work in outages.”
“Yeah, well apparently this one was broken. Can I tell my story?”
“I don’t know. Can you?”
“If you keep this up, I’m not letting you make any naan with mum.”
“Bastard. Go on, then.”
“Thank you. Anyway, there’s nothing to do, so I figured I’d take a nap and don’t you dare comment. I wound up having this really weird dream I’d had a couple times before, where it’s mostly normal, except your mom is lurking and watching everything.”
“That’s not creepy.” Hunter glared.
“Anyway, when we go to my kitchen, you mom finally just rushed you, stabs you in the heart, and then she starts bleeding from the chest and dies, and I’m just like, ‘Jesus Christ, subconscious, could you be more obvious?’”
“Maybe with a little work, I think.”
“Jesus Christ, Red. Be supportive? Anyway, in the dream I don’t even react, but when I wake up I realize that what she does in the dream is what she’s doing in real life and it’s kind of horrifying. Are you sure there isn’t anything we can do for her?”
“Why? She’s a failure of a parent and you know that.”
“And do you have to be so carefree about it? I mean I really think losing you is going to hurt her a lot, even if she doesn’t know so now.”
“Eh. If she really feels bad, she’ll say something.”
“But what if she doesn’t?”
“Why wouldn’t she? What possible reason could that woman have for not making any attempt if I’m moving out of her fucking house?”
“Because she might blame herself and thinks she deserves it? Because she’s obviously never known how to speak to you about her emotions? Because- You know what? I’m meddling. I have no right to make you try anything you’re apparently dead set against doing, so whatever. Elevator got fixed, I’m here, and now I’m going somewhere else so I can calm down. The end.”
“That was pretty much the most awful of all your bad stories.” He hadn’t meant it seriously. He really hadn’t, but it was one of those times where the joke came out in complete deadpan, because otherwise it wouldn’t work, and Hunter just hadn’t been in a state to catch that.
“Jesus Christ, Red!” said Hunter, forehead-poking again, viciously, “You’ve never been this bad. You either need to deal with your mom or stop your issues affecting your mood like this, because if you keep it up I’m not going to just accept your surly, insulting new self. Ta.” And then, for whatever reason, Randolph spoke.
“Hey, just in case I don’t see you before my eighteenth, I’ve got to ask you something.” Hunter stopped at the door. “Is it okay if I have everyone call me Red now?”
“I- That’s been my name for you, though.”
“I mean… your parents use it, too.”
“They don’t count, Red.”
“Really? Your parents are unimportant?”
“That’s not what I said and you know it.”
“It’s just- how- what gives you the right to decide who uses my name?”
“Because I gave it to you? Because you insisted no one else use it?”
“Yes! I insisted! Now I don’t! What’s the problem?”
“Fine, if you really want to, whatever. But don’t come over for dinner.” Hunter left. Randolph had been kicking himself since. He needed to call Hunter. First on the list, though, was finding his mother and actually leaving.
Randolph hadn’t expected to have to search for his mother to let her know he was leaving, but he wasn’t about to just leave unannounced. After all, if he wasn’t around to remind his mother he existed, this might be the last she saw of him. She’d always had to be reminded to spend time with family. Things had been a lot easier when Dad was alive, especially because Randolph was convinced his mother somehow blamed him for what happened.
Seven years go, Randolph lived in the same house, with the same mother who couldn’t connect with him, but his father was still around. When he could be, anyway, because he worked awkward late shifts. Most days he was home when Randolph got back from school, but he’d usually have to work not long after. He wanted to be home with Randolph more often, but he’d be fired if his boss found out he was interviewing elsewhere (it was a small business; they could get away with it), and the family couldn’t afford a long job search, so he stayed where he was, even though it meant he couldn’t see much of his son.
Randolph’s mother was out of town this week, on business. Randolph was upset, but it meant that he got to spend most nights down the street at Hunter’s, so it wasn’t too bad. Today, though, Dad wasn’t working, so he was coming right home after school.
He was ready to tell Dad all about how at school, a bully made fun of him for wearing the bright red cap his mother had given him when he was little, and when he knocked Randolph down, his glasses broke, but when he got home Dad wasn’t out front waiting like he usually was.
When Randolph called for him inside, he sounded hoarse. Since Dad was sick, and he couldn’t see the TV anyway, Randolph played in the backyard until dinner. The meat was unusual and the drink Dad gave him (he usually got to pour his own) was dark, thick, and he thought it tasted a bit like metal. Strange though the meal was, Randolph thought it was delicious and asked Dad what it was. “If I told you,” Dad said, still hoarse, “you’d go and tell other people, and that would ruin how special this meal is.”
After Randolph got ready for bed (early, because it was too dark to go outside, and he couldn’t see clearly enough to have any fun), he found Dad in the bed. “It’s early for you to go to bed, so I thought I’d keep you company if you weren’t tired,” was Dad’s reasoning, which struck Randolph as unlike him, but it still made a sort of sense.
When Dad said that it was getting warm (which it was), and that maybe Randolph should take off his shirt, Randolph knew that Dad was definitely not himself, because Dad knew Randolph had that patch of not-quite-scarred, not-quite-normal skin on his back from when he fell of his bike that Randolph hated letting anyone see. So, he made up the first reason to leave the house he could think of. He’d go to Hunter’s and maybe Hunter’s parents would know what to do about Dad.
“I have to pee.”
“Just go in the bed, we can clean the sheets later.”
“That’s really, really gross, Dad.”
“You get older, gross gets redefined.”
“Well, I’m not older.”
“Okay, fine. Go to the bathroom.”
Randolph went down the hall, shut the bathroom door without going in, fled to Hunter’s, and told Mrs. Fields what had happened.
It turned out that “Dad” had been Henry “Wolf” Perrault, who had been fleeing the authorities for some time. It took three tries before a cop could be found who was able to answer Randolph when he asked where that meant Dad was; “dinner” had been Dad. His mother didn’t come home until her trip ended as planned, even though Randolph had suddenly found himself unable to eat and was visiting the hospital daily as a result.
Which is why he was so shocked now to find her waiting at the door, though still emotionally disconnected as ever.
“You’re really going?”
“Yeah. I thought that was obvious, but yeah.”
“Hunter’s parents have no problem with you living there?”
“I kind of have been for that past few years anyway, and I’ll have my own room and everything. His parents are pretty cool with things, but they’re not stupid. Besides, I’ll be cooking for them a lot, so it’s not like I’m a complete moocher.”
“They like that weird stuff you make?”
“It’s Indian food, not ‘weird stuff,’ and I learned how to make most of it from Mrs. Fields, ‘cause she’s Indian and all.”
“Oh.”
“You’re welcome to visit, you know.”
“I might.”
“Don’t lie.”
“You didn’t have to say that.”
“Neither did you.”
“I want to fix this!”
“You say that, but I’ve never once seen a sign of it. Besides, it’s far too late to fix this.”
“Don’t say that!”
“Why? Because it hurts? That never stopped you.”
The silence that followed was comfortably awkward for Randolph. He didn’t know if it was for his mother, though, so after some time he walked out to the porch. She shut the door and he heard her walking away. All that was left was to call Hunter for a ride over. The house he’d moved to a couple years back was better for the Fields’, but not in walking distance.
“Red? Why are you calling?”
“Can you come pick me up?”
“Oh! Oh shit, man that was today! Why didn’t you remind me, Red? I mean, I think you’re being silly about it, but that doesn’t mean I meant to stop you or anything. I was so focused on having argued I forgot how soon you were- Gah.”
“It’s okay, really. Just get out here so I don’t have to sit out on the porch for forever, okay?”
“You already walked out? I wasn’t there for moral support? I-“
“Seriously. It’s okay. Just get here.”
“Okay, I will. And I was stupid about the Red thing. Of course other people can call you Red if you want them to. It’s not my place to say, it’s just that I was already upset, and-“
“We can talk about this in the car Hunter, it’s fine.”
“Oh! Right. I’m on my way.”
“Sweet.”
“Hang on, my mom wants to talk.”
“Just leave the phone with her and start driving. Oh, and by the way? You’re totally crap at making dreams up.”
“Yeah… cut me some slack, okay? I never had to before. Anyway, driving! Bye.”
“Ta.”
“Red?”
“Hey, Mrs. Fields.”
“Please, you’re going to be living with me. Stop calling me that.”
“Fine. Hey, Kavita.” Her hand hitting her forehead was audible through the phone.
“I was angling for ‘Mom,’ but I guess that’ll do.”
“So, you wanted to speak to me?”
“I just wanted to be sure you were really coming here for certain, because who knows what might have happened when you said goodbye to your mother and all. Wait, have you yet?”
“Yeah, I have. And yes, I’m still coming to stay.”
“Okay. That’s all I needed to know.”
“See you soon, then?”
“Well, there was also something I needed to tell you.”
“Yeah?”
“If you keep up that stupid ‘we’re not talking’ thing when you actually live in the same house as my son, I will personally knock the stupid out of your head. Got me?”
“I think. You knock the stupid out, though, and what’s going to be left?”
“Your cooking skills? That’s all I like you for anyway, you know.”
“Uh-huh. Giving your son someone else to talk at for a few hours a day has nothing to do with your love for me?”
“Watch it, Red. I’m game to insult you all I want, but that’s my baby.”
“Who never shuts up.”
“Point. Anyway, I’ve got things to do before you get here, so I’ll let you go.”
“Wait. You’re not cleaning the house for-”
“Ta.”
“-me?”
It wasn’t long before Hunter pulled into the driveway. He dropped the duffel in the backseat and then got in the car.
“Hey, where’s your hat?”
“Doesn’t really fit anymore. I can get a new one.”
Red looked back at the house as they turned onto the street, and then it was behind him.
