Total pages in book: 23
Estimated words: 22407 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 112(@200wpm)___ 90(@250wpm)___ 75(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 22407 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 112(@200wpm)___ 90(@250wpm)___ 75(@300wpm)
“No,” instantaneously leaves our only son.
Our eyes all cut to him, yet it’s his dad that speaks, “Do you plan to put one somewhere else?”
“No.”
“Do you plan to help at all?”
“No.”
“Wyland.”
“I’m sorry.” He shoves his hands into his Star Trek hoodie pocket and snidely corrects, “I meant, no thank you.”
“That’s not what I have an issue with.” Wes adjusts his hold on Blake to allow her to reach the top of the object. “You need to participate in the activities.”
“No.”
Irritation has me preparing to intervene when my mom gives a subtle headshaking gesture.
Damnit.
I know they need to fight it out.
Figure it out.
But I hate that they selfishly keep ruining feel-good family moments!
ForFederationsake, read the room!
Let us enjoy this shit!
“You need to be involved.”
“No.”
“You need to behave like you’re actually part of this family.”
“Weston,” swiftly hisses Clark in disapproval.
“What?” My other half snips in return while his daughter wiggles around in his grasp. “He. Does.”
“You mean behave like you want me to behave,” snaps our teenager, lean frame sitting up completely straight.
“Yes.”
“Weston,” Clark chastisingly chomps again.
“No, not like that.”
“Exactly like that,” Wy rebuts.
“That’s not…” he poorly retreats, “That’s not what I meant.”
“It’s exactly what you meant.”
“Do. Not. Tell. Me. What. I. Meant.”
“You meant that you just want me to do what you want when you want how you want because only your feelings matter in this family.”
McCoygivemestrength.
Or a painkiller.
I hate how fucking familiar this sounds.
“Why is everything a goddamn fight with you?” Wes struggles not to bark courtesy of Blake still in his arms.
“Why is everything your goddamn way or not at all?”
“Because it’s my fucking family!”
“Excuse you,” I viciously interject no longer comfortable staying off the bridge. “This is our fucking family. We all have a say. We all matter.” Dropping the tacky wrapping paper over the edge of the chair encourages Board to do the same with the tape. “And if our son doesn’t feel like decking the fucking halls, we’re not gonna force him, so you can simply feel better, Charlie Frown.”
“Why not?” sarcastically springs from Fins. “He forces me to do just about everything else.”
There’s no reluctance from my husband to bite, “That’s untrue.”
“Right. Because I wanted to go to that yacht dinner thing with the meat dude instead of the Leech Boys concert in Camelot.”
“Bennett,” Wes needlessly names.
Beach Boys covers with a death metal spin is about as fucking off putting as it sounds.
But he loves them.
Which is why Puppet Boy and Nae got him front row tickets and a meet and greet session for their upcoming show here in Highland.
They will also be taking him.
Because I’m not.
I do a lot for my kid; however, I’m not head banging to someone screaming “Good Vibrations” at me, totally missing the fucking point of that song beside him and his best friend, Jamie Washington, who always, inexplicably smells like cheap, hot dogs.
Wy sneers at the correction prior to continuing, “And I def wanted to go that tech thing for Hayworth instead of that all you can eat taco fest with Mom and Uncle C.”
“Haworth.”
To be fair to me…I tried to get him out of that shit.
I tried to convince Wes to let me take him for tacos and that they could bond over futuristic tech at a later time – considering how disinterested in most tech shit our son is – yet he refused.
He believed seeing some weird Jetsons wanna be kitchen would spark an interest.
It didn’t.
Clearly, it sparked additional resentment.
“And let’s not forget dragging my ass away from the waves that were begging to be carved to go watch a stupid sport you sponsor!”
“I was trying to spend time with you!”
“You don’t wanna spend time with me! You want me to spend time with you! Doing what you want! And only what you want!” Defiantly he rises to his feet. “So, what do you want me to do now, Dad?” His shoulders bounce in obvious exasperation. “Decorate the window? Poke the fire? Put antlers on the dogs?”
Two grumbles of disapproval immediately come from the fluffy creatures.
Yeah.
They’re not real big on “accessories”.
The jingle bells they’re wearing are more than enough.
“I want you to go to your room,” Wes retorts without a second thought.
“Happily,” grunts Wy at the same time he prepares to storm off.
“But Finnnnssss,” Blake whines while wiggling out of her dad’s grip back to the ground. “What about making reindeer food with us?”
“And the paper snowflakes for the door?!” Brae adds, dashing closer to her brother.
“And hot chocolate bombs?!” reminds Blake sprinting to her sister’s side.
His shoulders instantly sink towards his bare feet in tandem with him to a squatting position to be eye level. “We’ll do it later.” He playfully pokes each sibling in the tummy to get them giggling. “After my timeout, okay?”
“Okay,” they agree in unison around their giggles that lead to warm hugs.