Page 100 of Last Man Standing

Wow. Doubling down on the misogyny, I see. What a lovely birthday gift.

Lincoln:

You won’t bait me into an argument today. It’s your birthday. Maybe you should do something fun today. You only turn 26 once.

I roll my eyes.

Me:

We only turn every age once, dummy. I was only 25 once, too. Gave that up at midnight last night. Didn’t cry about it or anything.

I mean… I cried. For a man I’d just met, while he slept fitfully in his hospital bed, aided by an oxygen mask when the machines alerted his nurses to the need. I cried for the man sat beneath me, while he flirted and held my hand, but beneath my ear, his heart raced and ached.

Instead of bringing me back to our room, he switched on the television and insisted we spend our time barely paying attention to a dumb sitcom, all to honor a sick man’s simple request and keep him company while he slept.

I even cried for Arabella and Paul Jameson, because they mourn the best friend they know they’ll soon lose. Because they hurt for the brother too young to be burdened by his mortality.

And then when Sebastion’s phone chirped with a warning that Arabella was on her way back, he took me to bed and made me cry completely different tears.

The best kind. The healing kind.

But now it’s a new day, and my brother’s suggestion to get out and find something fun rings a little hollow.

What kind of fun does he expect me to find while surrounded by a hundred armed men and a homicidal Arabella already in the throes of grief?

Me:

I saw some horses the night we drove in. Not entirely sure if they belong to the neighbors or, who knows, maybe they’re wild. But since it’s my birthday and I allllllways wanted a pony…

Lincoln:

If they’re wild, leave them alone!

If they’re wild and you insist on ignoring my last message, then at least don’t stand behind them.

In fact, tell Tank to stand behind them. Then shout real loud and see what happens. Send me pics.

I choke out a silly giggle and try to picture the obnoxiously large, much-too-gruff Sebastion Jameson spending any of his spare time with a bunch of ponies. Amongst the explosives hidden in the ground… above the extensive and, unknown to me, tunnel system beneath his property.

Me:

I’m not allowed to take pictures here.

Lincoln:

Uh… what?

Me:

I didn’t stutter.

Mommy Dearest says so. Something about Trojans and image-eating web security bots combing the servers and… I don’t even know.

I got so bored during that lecture, my brain glazed over.

Not.

My brain glazed over from fear and disbelief. Grief and the panic that came with having all of my safety nets taken away in one fell swoop.