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Part 22

I woke up to a bed of my own scent. I walked stark naked (it's okay, my parents aren't home in the mornings) into my own bathroom. I ate my own food by myself in my own house. I got changed with my own clothes (well, underwear...what? My parents weren't home) from my own closet. I sat on my own couch and watched TV. What I'm trying to say is: I love being home. Well, not here, here, in this town, but just being in my own house. Not worrying about who I would sleep with tonight or where I would see some of Brent's friends. It was refreshing. Not having to worry, that is, not the town. And now Carson and I could go on a real date, which we set for tomorrow night.

For today, though, I was feeling sluggish and ended up nodding off on the couch for several hours. I had a nice dream about Carson and, before I made a mess, I decided to wake up, get rid of a welcomed 'guest', and get myself some lunch. My parents still hadn't come home at this point, so lunch was all on me. I think I did pretty good, the labels on the side of the Mac&Cheese package helped a little but I give myself credit for the meal. It was delicious as always, who cares about being rich and getting real cheese, this stuff was just as good for one/third the price. And it always felt so warm going down my gullet that it left me feeling better and slightly more awake than I was (I ended up trying it right out of the microwave and burned the tip of my tongue).

Carson started texting me around three. Whatever his problem was yesterday it was virtually gone today. He sent me emoji's and smiley faces with his texts that he talked about how his parents were so happy to have him home and wouldn't let him sleep until he told them how it went. I felt bad for him. My parents learned long ago not to disturb me when I was in a mood or tired (well, my mom, my dad on the other hand...). He said he just got up when he texted me and, well, sent me a pic of his briefs he fell asleep in. And did I mention he was still in them? A little happy, too. So it was only out of courtesy that I sent him a little mirror pic of me in my undies.

That lasted us until my parents got home and I hurriedly picked up my underwear from the floor with athletic shorts and out them on, apologizing to Carson and cursing myself. One more pic away from his...well, you know.

"Scout, I see you made yourself food," were the first words I heard when I walked down the stairs. My mother liked to keep a tidy house, and considering it was fairly big, and was inhabited by two guys, that was easier said than done. The living room is where most of the mess happened, chips or popcorn falling between the cushion of the large orange couch (which matched the color of the walls perfectly, how she managed that, I would never know), sometimes being kicked under the cream rug. The thing with guys is: we're lazy. So, for instance, we prefer to have the remote on the couch next to us instead of charging in its jack next to the flat screen. We're also idiots. Let's say that my father wants to be a child again and throws a pretzel at me (it's happened). I, being a man myself, of course retaliate. Some throws can go as far as the large paned windows at the front and back, and are left there, going back to my early point: we are lazy.

I walked into the kitchen, my mother's claw tapping against the wood floor. The black granite island was littered in cheese dust from the macaroni and small pieces of french toast. So that's what I had for breakfast. My mom was staring at me narrow eyed.

"Yeah, um, it was the bird," I said, my tail swinging freely behind.

A faint smile appeared. "Rizzo died five years ago?"

"Wait, what? Who the hell have I been feeding then?"

Lame I know, but she likes that stuff. It reminds her of when I was a kid. Hey, it works. Her smile broadens and she picks up a paper towel, wets it, and cleans the mess herself. "I swear you got that from me?"

"Ignorance?"

She made a 'thck' sound with her teeth. "Manipulative."

"I did not-"

"Hey, buddy!" My father likes to call me 'buddy', 'pal', 'amigo'...honestly anything but my name. Okay, that's an exaggeration, but seriously, am I five?

"Hey, cutie," I say with a smirk. My mother laughs and my father just frowns at me. "What? You started it."

"I didn't start that," he countered. "So how was the trip."

Draining. Stupid. Lovely. Met a cute guy. Slept with him and another guy. Broke up with someone. My best friend's mad or in love or whatever with me. "Good."

"Did you do any fun activities?" he asked, sitting at the kitchen table. His greying ears flicked towards me and his tail bobed behind him.

I look at my mother, who looks at me with a smile and shrugs. Seriously, am I five?

"Well, first we finger-painted. Second, there was this cool slide that we went down. Oh! And there was this wicked awesome bubble blower. Oh, that was so fun."

"I'm glad you had a good time."

He was either not listening or is not my father.

"You get the ignorance from him," my mom said low enough for me to hear.

Later that night they wanted to watch a movie with me and I couldn't refuse, it was an old classic that I loved. Through the explosions and violence, I actually really looked forward to spending time with them. I don't know what it is, but since I've been getting closer to senior year, I always like to hang out with them. Years before I hated to go with them, even faking illnesses. Don't ask me what changed because I don't know. But what I do know is that there's an art show coming up and that I've been wanting to go with my parents. My mother knew that of course, and brought it up after the main character wolf shot an elk in the gut.

"That art show's coming up. Want to go?"

"Duh, of course."

"What art show?" my father asked.

"The art show we've been going to for years," I say, leaning further on the arm of the couch.

"Oh! When is that?"

"Next weekend?"

"Yes," my mother confirmed.

"Are we going?" my father questioned.

Seriously. How he isn't an interrogator is beyond me. He'd get to the truth just because people wouldn't want to put up with him.

"Yesssssss, we are gooooooooooing," I exaggerate.

"Watch the tone."

"Watch the weight," I smile back at him.

"I'm losing some."

"Says the guy who has a one pound bag of candy corn in the drawer."

"Ben, you're hiding candy?" my mother asked. She got up and headed for the kitchen.

"No I'm not!" he called after her, getting up a moment later. I heard them laughing and mom saying "Let go" from the kitchen through the laughter.

Why do I want to hang out with them all of a sudden?