Page 102 of Pretense

You are reading on AllFreeNovel.com
Font Size:

Page 102 of Pretense

As much as I wanted to tease him about his humble nature, he was kind of right. Every year, near the holidays, the shelter had an increase in their census. The nights were colder during the winter months, and the need for coats and more beds almost doubled. Throughout the year we survived on government funding and charitable donations, but every December, Pride House put on a play to help raise money for the influx during the holidays. The residents and staff all got involved. Everything was handmade or donated. Sponsors usually helped pay for the supplies, but for the most part, we did it all on our own. Maybe it was my relationship with Van, and how we’d met, or maybe it was my love for the book, but I’d offered to write an adaptation ofThe Lost Boys,and everyone loved the idea. At least we hoped everyone would love it. The new director and his staff were supposed to be here this week. Hopefully, the guy wasn’t a total asshole.

“You should get Van to be one of the sponsors since you both get a hard-on for that book.”

“Horrible idea,” I said and turned onto the long, grass driveway that led up to my mother’s house.

“Why?” He shrugged. “Get his agency to sponsor it. They like books, it makes sense.”

I put the car in park and shut off the engine. Staring at the small trailer home that had seen better days, I asked, “You don’t think that’s rude of me to ask?”

“No. It’s not like you’re asking Van for money.” He pulled down the visor and opened the mirror. He pressed his lips together and wiped a finger under his eye, removing the faint black smudge from his mascara. “They could probably use it as a tax write-off.”

“Maybe.”

He shut the mirror and stared at me. “If it makes you uncomfortable, then don’t ask him, I was only—”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Parker.” Marcos rested his hand on my shoulder, and I met his gaze. His smile was soft as he said, “He likes you. Not that I’m telling you to capitalize on that. But it’s obvious. I mean, the students in our class are fucking idiots if they can’t see the way that man looks at you. All I’m saying is, I bet he’d want to help you.”

“I don’t know, his boss is always busy. I have a meeting with him this Friday to go over some of my work, and even then, he had to fit me in. But… yeah, maybe you’re right. I could pitch the idea to both of them, then.”

“That could work,” he said. “Or…” He held out his hand. “I could ask him.”

“Hell no.”

“Come on,” he pouted. “You never let me tease him. I’m always on my best behavior. I can be an adult, you know.”

“You can?” I asked and bit back my grin.

“Güey.” He grumbled and opened his door.

“Do I want to know what that means?”

“No… I don’t think you do,” he said and stepped out of the car. He bent down, his arm on the frame. “You think your mom made those cookies I like?”

All traces of his previous annoyance had dissipated. The guy was a whirlwind, but he wouldn’t be Marcos any other way.

She’d made two dozen.

We were in the kitchen going over Marcos’s costume ideas when the oven timer went off.

“I’ll get it,” I said and leaned down to kiss my mom on the cheek.

“Thanks, baby.”

I didn’t understand Marcos’s obsession with these cookies. Oatmeal and raisins, in my opinion, had no business calling themselves a cookie. Grabbing a rag off the counter, I pulled the tray out of the oven. The scent of cinnamon filled the room, and like always, I second-guessed myself thinking I might like them this time. Of course, I wouldn’t. The smell was deceiving as fuck.

“Just set them on the stove, Park. They need to cool,” she said, like she hadn’t told me this a thousand times over the years.

I placed the hot tray on the stove and smiled as I caught her watching me. My mom liked things a certain way, and I couldn’t say I didn’t blame her. Raising two kids on your own had to be hard, setting limits, keeping the status quo. It’s how she survived, how we all did. She had to be two people wrapped in one body. She’d worked as a teacher for most of my life. And when the rest of the teachers took off for the summer, she worked at the local diner for extra cash. She had worked hard for us, but I didn’t truly grasp how much she’d done for us until recently. The situation wasn’t the same, Van was divorced, not a widower, but I could see some similarities between him and my mom. Which I guess might be weird to some, but I found it comforting. Much like this house, Van’s wasn’t immaculate, definitely lived in, but everything had its place. Everything he did was to make sure Anne had a safe place, a home when she was with him.

“Thanks, sweetie.” She shooed me out of the way, situating the tray how she liked it. Nostalgia filled my chest and I smiled. Scooping the cookies onto the wire rack she’d set out earlier, she asked, “Have you heard from your sister lately?”

“Not in a few weeks. Why, everything okay?”

“I’m not sure, she seemed down. She called me yesterday, said she might come home for Thanksgiving this year.” Mom saved two cookies for Marcos and put them on a plate. He’s always liked them fresh out of the oven, even if he ended up with a burnt tongue in the process. She glanced over at Marcos and lowered her voice. “I was thinking of doing the whole thing this year, bird and all…you think he’d come this time?”

“I could try, but you know how he is.”


Articles you may like