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“Don’t worry about it, dear,” Mom says. “He seems more than capable of handling your father.”
“You think?”
“Don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Let’s go, then.”
We ascend the stairs and enter my room. I’m quick to grab my suitcases and even quicker to shove things in.
Can’t believe how understanding my parents are, but then again, money has a way of talking, and Noah’s a loud talker.
“That’s it.” I slap the suitcases closed. I’m only bringing the minimum.
“You sure?” Mom double-checks.
“Yes, Mom.”
She hugs me. “Your father and I will come visit.”
“That would be nice.” I grab my bags.
Mom gently slaps my hand. “No! Let me.”
“I can do it, Mom.”
“I said I’ve got it.” She grabs the handles, lifts the bags, and heads for the door. “Coming?”
“Right behind you.”
Mom calls Dad before we reach the bottom of the stairs, and he’s Johnny-on-the-spot. She holds the bags out to him, and he takes them.
“Let me.” Noah forcibly intervenes.
Dad raises his bushy eyebrows, looks at Mom, and smiles.
From there, we head to the car.
Dad whistles. “That yours?”
“No, sir. My cousin’s.”
“Wow.”
The chauffeur sees us coming, pops the trunk, and races to Noah. “Let me get those for you, sir.”
“Thank you.”
Noah opens the back door while the driver sets the bags in and closes the trunk.
Dad peeks in the car and whistles again. “This is something.”
“You ever been in one?” Noah asks.
“Haven’t had the pleasure.”
“Want a quick ride?”
