Smitty jabs a finger in my direction. “Thank you. I’m just glad someone finally recognizes my awesomeness. And”—he beams at Sawyer—“I’ll take that trade any day of the week.”
“And I—” my dad begins.
“Oh, look,” Sawyer says. “We’re here.”
He throws the van in park and gets out, making short work of retrieving my parents’ bags from the trunk.
He’s got them lined up on the curb by the time Smitty herds them out of the back seat.
My dad grabs his, starts wheeling it inside.
No backward glance. No thanks. No, nice to see you, son.
Just…gone.
And frankly, it’s one of the few things I’m grateful for over the last few hours.
Well, that and Harper.
And my two lunatic teammates who willingly tortured themselves for almost two hours, so I wouldn’t be alone.
“He didn’t even offer to carry my bag,” my mom huffs, glaring after the retreating form of my dad. “I don’t know why I even bother with him. He didn’t even comment on my outfit.” She pats her hair. “Or my new haircut.”
Christ.
“It looks good, Mom. And I like your outfit.”
“Really?” she lights up. “Wait until I tell your father what you said. He doesn’t notice but our child does?” She tilts her head back, nose in the air, and grips the handle of her rolling bag. “I’m going to give him a piece of my mind.”
She marches away.
“Bye, Mom,” I call.
She waves a hand distractedly over her shoulder and disappears through the automatic door.
“If they end up on the No-Fly list we’re not coming back for them,” Smitty mutters.
“Absolutely not,” I agree, climbing into the passenger’s seat while he hops in back.
“So…you’re moving, right?” Sawyer asks as he waits for us to buckle in.
I show him my phone, the house listings I’d been searching through during the ride displayed on the screen. “What do you think?”
His mouth quirks. “I know good movers.”
“Are they known as the Grizzlies Moving Company?”
“Something like that.” He pulls away from the curb and starts weaving his way toward the exit. “Wanna share with the class how those two created you?”
“They were too busy arguing with each other to corrupt our boy, Ricky, here,” Smitty says.
“I—” I stop and not because of the dumb nickname. But because— “You’re right.”
“I know I am,” he says. “Mostly because I know all about assholes as fathers.”
“I’ve met your parents,” Sawyer says. “They seem pretty cool to me.”
“That’s because they are. It’s Kailey’s dad who’s the real problem,” Smitty mutters.
