Riot by Jamie Shaw

Author:Jamie Shaw [Shaw, Jamie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Romance, New Adult, Contemporary, Coming of Age
ISBN: 9780062379672
Google: 10NABAAAQBAJ
Amazon: B00L1AJUKY
Barnesnoble: B00L1AJUKY
Publisher: Harper Collins
Published: 2015-02-09T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Sixteen

“DON’T ANSWER IT,” Joel groans the morning after his birthday party, but I wiggle away from the warmth of his body to grab my ringing phone off the nightstand.

“Hello?”

My dad chuckles into the line. “Morning, sleepyhead.”

I collapse back against my mattress and groan. “What time is it?”

“Almost noon. Late night clubbing?”

An amused chuckle answers him. “Dad, what do you know about clubbing?”

“What do you think I’ve been doing with all my time since you moved out?”

I laugh hard, waking Joel back up. He turns his face toward me and mumbles, “Who is it?”

“Is that a boy?” my dad asks.

“My gay friend, Dad,” I quickly answer, emphasizing the last word for Joel’s benefit. “We had a sleepover last night after a birthday party.”

“Gay friend?” my dad asks.

“Gay friend?” Joel mouths.

“Leti, remember?”

“Oh, yeah. Whose birthday was it?”

“My friend Joel’s,” I answer, and Joel’s eyebrow lifts.

“A boy friend?”

“Yeah, a boy, space, friend,” I say, rolling away from Joel so that I’m facing the edge of the bed. He brushes my hair away from my neck, and then his warm breath is on my neck and I’m struggling to listen to my dad.

“—just wanted to see when you’re coming home for Easter,” he says, and Joel’s satin tongue curls behind the tender lobe of my ear. My eyes flutter closed, and I bite my lip between my teeth. “Dee?” my dad says, and I roll out of bed, padding out of Joel’s reach.

“Yeah. I’m coming home the Wednesday before Easter,” I say, watching Joel stretch out on my bed. His arms lift over his head, pulling his stomach muscles tight. When he catches me staring, he winks at me, and I spin toward the wall.

“I was thinking chicken cacciatore over garganelli pasta this year. Think we can figure out how to make it?”

The first Easter after my mom left, my dad attempted to cook Easter dinner, but the ham was burnt, the mashed potatoes were runny, and the green-bean casserole was charred to a crisp. We were both sitting at the table staring at our food, thinking of my mom, when he abruptly stood up and dragged me to the kitchen.

“Alright, we’re going to make a linguini ala pomodoro caprese,” he said, and at eleven years old, I had no idea he was just making shit up. We ended up boiling a bunch of miscellaneous pasta, cutting up fresh tomatoes and peppers, and mixing everything with a store-bought tomato sauce. My dad and I ate every last bit, swearing it was the best meal we had ever eaten, and in truth, it was. It was also the best Easter I’d ever had.

Every year since, we’ve attempted to make something especially complicated, and even on the years we’ve failed miserably, we’ve laughed our asses off and have eaten the scraps.

I smile at my lavender wall. “Yeah, I think we can manage. That sounds amazing.”

I wrap up the conversation with my dad and turn back toward Joel, glaring at him. I point a finger at his smirking face and say, “You are evil.

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