Page 4 of Meet the Boys
I stand up and trail my giant brother inside. He’s reached six-four now. At one point, Mom was convinced he’d never stop growing, but he’s been this height since he was seventeen and hasn’t budged. I stopped at five-ten when I was fifteen. I may have been one of the tallest girls in my class in high school, but I’m actually the smallest girl on my college basketball team.
“Wash up,” Mom calls over her shoulder, and we take turns in the downstairs bathroom washing our hands before taking our seats at the table.
Dad wheels himself up to the end and looks us over, winking at Darian, then eyeing me up before smiling at me.
I internally tense, yanking out my chair and taking a seat. Glancing down at my baggy shirt, I spot the stain Dad was probably noticing and pull my chair in so he can’t see it.
So I’m a messy slob. Get over it!
Holding out his hands, Dad quietly insists we say grace together.“Bendice, Señor, estos alimentos que por tu bondad vamos a tomar. Amén.”
“Amén,”we all say in unison before Mom starts passing around the food.
Dad watches her with an adoring look, and I bite my lips together as I wait for my turn.
He should adore her. She does freaking everything for him.
Yes, I know he’s in a wheelchair, but even if he wasn’t, he’d probably expect her to cook and clean and run this house like the good little woman she is.
But she’s more than good.
She has a full-time job as well. And she’s had that since we were kids. Always running around after everyone. And sure, Dad’s not a complete sloth. He’s a marketing manager and works hard too, but when he gets home, he’s the one watching sports on TV while Mom’s in the kitchen.
It drives me crazy!
“You need to find people who will be easy to live with.” Dad serves himself some green beans before passing the bowl to Darian. “Don’t just think about who’s the most fun. You need to ask yourselves, ‘Who can I handle sharing a space with for the day-to-day things?’”
“He’s right.” Mom nods.
Of course she does.
She agrees with Dad oneverything.
And yes, that also drives me insane.
“Maybe we should ask Ben.” Darian glances at me. “He seems responsible.”
“And boring,” I murmur.
“Ben is not boring. You just don’t know him.”
I roll my eyes.
“Being responsible is a good thing, Carlota.” Dad frowns at me. “You should want to live with someone who knows how to clean up after themselves.”
I don’t miss his little dig.
If my father and I can argue about anything, it’s the fact that I’m a slob and my room is a war zone. But it’s my fucking room, and I should be able to have it the way I want it! And I’m not a total slob. He just doesn’t get that I’m able to find things just as easily when they’re on the floor. And it’s not like I leave my stuff lying around the house all the time. I’m aware that we have to have clear pathways for his chair. I’m not a complete idiot.
“You know what?” Darian digs into his meal, loading up his fork before looking at me. “You don’t know half the guys as well as I do, so you really shouldn’t have any say in this.”
I balk, resisting the urge to throw a carrot stick at his head. “If I’m going to be living with them, I should damn well get a say!”
“Carlota,” Dad softly barks. “Cuidado con esa boca.”
“I am watching my mouth,” I argue. “And how is it okay for your son to suggest that your daughter gets no say in who she lives with, but it’s not okay for her to saydamn?”
His expression folds into a frown, and Mom quickly eases the tension with a smile. “Which friends of Darian’s do you like, baby? Maybe start with those.”
