Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 68459 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68459 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
“Actually, I have a better idea,” he said. “Meet me back at your place. We’ll drop off your car, grab these presents, then go and return them. Then I’ll take you somewhere special.”
The tears were already threatening, so I nodded instead of voicing my answer.
“Drive safe, honey.”
Then he was gone, and I was backing out of the driveway and trying not to notice how my dad was stomping his way down the driveway with those stupid fucking paper towels under his arm.
My mom was two steps behind him with the empty box and the gift cards.
I’m such a ‘who the fuck touched my, never mind, I found it’ type of person.
—Hollis to Quincy
QUINCY
Rage.
It wasn’t very often I felt it.
I led a pretty good life.
I had great parents. Great siblings.
A great job, albeit a frustrating one, and money in the bank.
Sure, there were times I experienced frustration, sadness, and yes, anger.
But rage?
Barely ever.
Yet, I was feeling it now, toward the people who were supposed to love Hollis the most.
I waited until Hollis was out of the driveway and down the street before I turned to acknowledge the two pieces of shit in front of me.
When she’d said ‘I’m used to it’ I would’ve had no chance at guessing that this utter bullshit was what she was talking about.
I mean, she’d told me all about her brother and sister, and how proud she was of them. She told me about her mom, Dael, and her dad, Broddie. Told me about how they’d come so far in life after the struggle that was her childhood.
And they treat her like this?
I think the fuck not.
“What are you doing here?” I asked stiffly.
The dad clenched his hands on the paper towels.
“What are you talking about? You’re at my house,” he pointed out.
“Maybe it’s your house,” I agreed. “But when I said ‘what are you doing here’ I meant more like, ‘why are you here, making a joke out of your daughter’s life?’”
The man in front of me stiffened, and the woman gasped.
I wouldn’t even deign to call them Hollis’s parents at this point.
“Your daughter spent quite a bit of money on presents for those two,” I pointed my index finger in the general direction of the house. “Meanwhile, y’all buy her the shittiest gifts in existence, if you can even call a box and used gift cards gifts, and then have the nerve to get mad that she left?”
The mom opened her mouth, but I kept speaking.
“I learned last week that she was allergic to seafood and have planned accordingly around that,” I disclosed. “Meanwhile, you make it for her birthday dinner?”
The mom snapped her mouth shut.
“And don’t tell me you forgot, because that’s not something you forget,” I snapped.
“I made her a separate plate,” she tried.
I rolled my eyes. “If by ‘special plate’ you mean the microwave chicken alfredo I saw the box of in the trash, then sure. You made her a separate plate. Meanwhile, your chosen children get the meal that they like. And they get 2k in presents from you. Meanwhile, Hollis gets an empty box, a used gift set with fuckin’ dust on it, used gift cards, and a pack of paper towels? Jesus Christ. You didn’t even splurge on the six-pack. You got four.”
The dad snapped his mouth shut.
“If my parents did this to me, I’d fuckin’ leave and never come back. Yet you have her returning, year after year, for hope. That maybe one day you’ll treat her like you treat your other children.” I looked the ‘father’ solidly in his eyes before saying, “And don’t think I didn’t notice that each of you have a brand new car in that driveway, and she’s driving around a goddamn Corolla with more miles on it than Jesus could put on a car. Oh, and she had to teach herself how to work on it, because she knew no support was going to be forthcoming from her family. I learned from Kinny that he’s been teaching her how to take care of her car since she was a teen. That means maybe he’s the one who helped her keep that car on the road… and not either one of you. Meanwhile…” I swept my arms out toward their cars. “Your other daughter gets a twelve hundred dollar moped, a purse that cost a whack, a fuckin’ MacBook Air, which cost another eighteen hundred dollars. Then for your son, you get him a thirty-five-hundred-dollar amp.”
The parents didn’t say a word.
“And meanwhile, you get her a fuckin’ box of the other daughter’s MacBook, used gift cards, and a four-pack of paper towels, which I have a distinct feeling have another meaning that I’m just not privy to yet.” I shook my head. “My parents had nine kids. Seven of us had birthdays around Christmas. And not fuckin’ once did they combine Christmas with our birthdays. And to top it off, we all got equal presents. It can be done.”