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)
Despite his obvious unhappiness with the man across the room, Wy winds his arms around the twins and squeezes.
Softly smiles.
Looks exactly like the very man he swears he hates.
Post parting, Mom sweetly suggests, “Girls, why don’t we take a peppermint bark break?” She tosses me a brief all-knowing look during Wy’s exit. “I think Mom and Dad and Gramps need a minute alone.”
“Peppermint barkkkkkkkk!” They victoriously shout on a high five further proving they possess at least a smidgen of my DNA.
I mean who doesn’t love a dude five?
“Board, Betty,” my head tips towards the threshold the girls are crossing, “go check on Wy for me.”
Both dogs trot out of the area, yet its Betty who uses to her mouth close the door behind them.
“That is extraordinary training,” Clark compliments, gaze collecting mine. “Although, Lucky isn’t the fondest of it when he’s trying to unload groceries.”
I helplessly toss him a smirk before shooting the man I married a sneer. “Speaking of things people aren’t the fondest of…”
He firmly folds his arms across his black “Jingle Bells, Batman Smells” t-shirt the girls picked out for him last year. “I will not apologize for disciplining our son.”
“Then how about apologizing for disregarding your wife?” My arms take an identical position across my “Do It for The Hos” Santa sweater. “For choosing to parent like only your shitty strategy matters?!”
“Not doing anything is not a strategy!” An unexpected stomp forward is taken. “And letting him have his fucking way because he’s pouting isn’t you being strong! It’s you being weak!”
“Did you just fucking call me weak?!”
Unfortunately for me, the opportunity to let my shouting soar is interrupted by a surprising face peeking into the room. “Bad time?”
“It’s not the best time, J.T.,” his best friend grumbles.
“For Wes,” I sardonically state. “The only person who matters on the USS Wilcox.”
“This seems like a bad time,” he cringes prior to lifting the small bag in his hand. “I was just looking for Fins to drop this off. I figured he’d be in here doing the family thing because it’s family thing time, but…” Puppet Boy’s eyes swiftly sweep the scene. “Seems like…everyone abandoned ship but the main cast.”
“What’s in the bag?” Wes instantly asks.
“None of your business,” pops out of me, leaving no room for our best friend to speak.
“He’s my son.” Our eyes lock in a hostile nature once more. “It most certainly is my business.”
“He’s our son, Weston!” A crude gesture to my crotch is made. “He came out of here.” The hand motion is repeated near my tits. “He fed from here.” It moves to my facial area next. “He spends too much time here.” Resuming my folded arm stance is attached to a deeper glare. “He is just as much mine as he is yours, and I say it’s none of your business what he had his uncle grab him because if he wanted you to fucking know he would’ve asked you to get it.”
“How do we know it’s not drugs? Pocket glow?”
“Snow.” There’s no stopping the eye roll that occurs. “And what part of Puppet Boy even suggests he would give our son drugs?”
“Ouch,” J.T. mirthfully mutters upon entering the room. “From both sides of the ship here.” He firmly points at Wes first. “One, it hurts you think I’d ever knowingly give my nephew something that could harm him or keep that kinda shit from you.” The digit is flung my way next. “And two, I am the cool uncle!”
My head tilts sarcastically to one side.
“I am! I’m the one who showed him how to properly clear his browser history and search the web in incognito mode!”
“We sooooo have different definitions of cool.”
“Until you both have the very same one such as attending a yearly Trekkie convention,” Wes slyly points out.
Clark helplessly chortles in agreement. “That is true.”
Having the room momentarily filled with chuckles successfully dissipates some of the lingering irateness that still needs to be addressed.
Even after all these years, both Clark and Puppet Boy have a good habit of defusing what appears to be an otherwise non-diffusible situation.
“What’s in the bag?” Wes investigates a second time yet again, adding fuel to the dying fire.
“Something from the brand for his giftbox to Kendall,” Puppet Boy informs while still maintaining a bit of secrecy.
Here is what makes him a cool uncle.
One that Wy trusts.
And talks to.
Not just about nerd shit but dude shit.
J.T. was who the poor kid went to when he got his first ingrown hair on his junk area.
Apparently talking to me would’ve been “too awkward”.
And talking to Wes about stuff is just…not something he’s ever really done.
Is that what’s bugging him?
That our son doesn’t have a relationship with him the way he had one with his father?
“What…” fighting his own sadness over the cluelessness of the object is noticeably difficult, “giftbox?”