Page 74 of The Way I Hate Him
“No accidents, Gran. I always wrap up.”
She huffs her disappointment. “Well, that’s upsetting. I’m going to die without great-grandchildren.”
“Who says you’re dying in six months?” I ask. “Abel didn’t say anything about that. He said you’ve made a remarkable turnaround since I was called to come back home, making me wonder if you made it seem worse than it is.”
Her mouth falls open, and she clutches her chest in surprise. “Do you think I’d do such a thing?”
“Yes,” I say. “Yes, I do. I wouldn’t put it past you.”
“Well, you’re wrong. I’m dying in six months, and when that happens, I’ll watch you eat your words.”
“How will you be able to watch if you’re dead?” I ask her.
Her eyes narrow, and she points her cane at me. “Don’t get smart with me, boy. I will haunt you so hard, you’ll fear closing your eyes at night.”
I truly believe her. This woman can pretty much will anything into fruition with an evil sneer and a call out to the universe, even her death in six months.
I hold my hands up and say, “Okay, so you’re dying in six months. What should we do to make sure you have the best six months of your life?”
“For one . . . get you married.” She brings both hands to the top of her cane and says, “Any prospects?”
Immediately, Hattie comes to mind, which fuck, that’s annoying. She’s never even been on my radar. Now she’s the first fucking person I think of? Jesus . . . no, think of someone else.
Anyone.
Maybe that big-boob girl who never sucked your dick.What was her name again?
Hattie . . .
No.
Not Hattie.
Carla?
Annise?
No . . .
Hattie.
My inner turmoil gets the best of me because before I can think of some random girl’s name, Gran stares me down, the maturity in her eyes like a pointed finger, demanding me to tell the truth.
“You’re about to lie to me. Do not lie to me. You know I have my way of finding things out, so you might as well tell the truth.”
I lean back in my chair and sigh. “Gran, there aren’t any women in my life.”
“Hayes Richard Farrow, I know that look in your eyes. There is someone. Now tell me.”
Dammit. I tug on my hair that apparently needs to be cut. “Gran, I can’t tell you because it’s really not anything, and if it becomes something, it’ll be bad.”
“Is she married?”
“What?” I ask. “No. I’d never do that.”
“Good.” Gran nods her head. “At least I taught you something.”
“You taught me a whole lot more than just that,” I reply.
