Page 15 of 27 Kisses

Wait… “When did you see Simon?” Isaac didn’t mention anything.

“You never listen, Garrett.” She shakes her head, and I’m hit with a memory of her disappointment when the girls snuck outside to play in her garden and destroyed her petunias. I was fourteen. Emily was twelve. Janie was only three. Somehow it was my fault. “We FaceTimed with Jane and Simon on Thanksgiving. Her home is breathtaking.”

Oh, you mean the palace? In Lutiana? But I don’t bother pointing that out. Or that Jane’s house, east of Mule Creek, is nice but much, much smaller. Jane is doing well, but it’s hard to get past all the things that happened. Isaac is a better man than I am. I’m glad he was able to forgive Jane and move past that for Simon’s sake.

My parents talk about Mule Creek and how nothing has changed, ignoring the fact that almost everything has changed.

“Where were you, dear?” Mother asks, studying me with a keen gaze.

I resist the urge to squirm in my seat. Mother used to teach elementary school, and she’s perfected the teacher stare they all seem to have. I clear my throat. “Excuse me?”

“When we called earlier. We waited a long time, Garrett. Were you working?”

It’s not surprising that work is her first guess. “No.”

“Were you in the city?” my father guesses. He means Kansas City. Mule Creek is about an hour east. Geesh, I didn’t take that long.

As I grab my clothes to dress, Aidyn grabs my arm. “Shower with me?”

It’s hard to resist him with his kiss-swollen lips and messy hair. “I have to go, sweetheart,” I say, even as I touch his face, not wanting to leave him.

“Aye, but you can’t meet your parents like that.” There’s a teasing glint in his eyes as they rake over me. “You’re covered in lube.”

“Garrett?”

I blink away the memories and glance up at my father. “What?”

“Were you in the city?”

“No.”

Mother raises a perfectly manicured brow. This conversation won’t be over until I tell them. “I was having dinner with Aidyn and Lanie.”

“Oh.” She blinks, and her gaze darts to my father. When she turns back to me, she says, “That’s a late dinner.”

“Dinner was at six…” Why am I explaining this? I know how to navigate my parents. I’ve done it for most of my life. “Are you going to see Lanie?”Since you missed her last three or ten birthdays.

“Of course we want to see Lanie,” Father says.

“But there’s plenty of time for that.”

“Oh. So, you’re actually staying until Christmas?”

Mother purses her lips. “We just said we were.”

But you never say what you mean. You give statements, and we infer things. Then, when it doesn’t work out, it’s because we got everything wrong. But pointing that out won’t help.

She stands abruptly. “No need to dawdle, David. It’s starting to get dark.”

“Yes, dear. Absolutely right.” My father stands, and relief has me smiling at them.

“Thanks for stopping by?—”

Mother furrows her brows. Something she rarely does since it causes wrinkles. “Stopping by? Don’t be ridiculous.”

I let out a nervous laugh. “But you said it was getting late?”

“Itisgetting late, Garrett. You may be a night owl, but some of us need our sleep.”