Page 40 of A Little Broken

“You’re welcome,” my mom sing-songs.

“So, why no more Roberto?” my dad asks.

I stretch my legs out from beneath the table and cross one ankle over the other. “Because Roberto was a one-night-stand, which I’ve already told you about a billion times.”

“I mean, I don’t think you’ve told us abilliontimes,” my mom argues.

“Yeah, only like ten,” my dad agrees. “It’s still fun to say his name, though. RIP, Roberto.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose and hold in my amusement. “RIP, Roberto.”

“So, where are you now?” my mom chimes in. “I was checking your location earlier today and it said you were flying over Texas?”

“I landed in Harden Heights earlier today.”

“Aw, are you staying with Squeaks?” my mom asks.

“Yup,” I reply. “I asked if I could crash with her for a little while, and she said yes, so, here I am.”

“I love that. How’s our Squeaks doing, anyway?” my dad questions.

“She’s good,” I answer.

“Seeing anyone?” my dad prods.

“Dad.”

“You know her parents are gonna ask if we dug for dirt. She’s almost as elusive as you are.”

I smirk. “Yeah, but you’re not even going to try to be subtle about it?”

“I think we all know your parents aren’t known for being subtle, babe,” my mom counters.

She’s not wrong.

“So that’s where I get it from,” I say.

“Exactly,” my dad confirms. “Don’t say we never gave you anything.”

I roll my eyes. “So generous.”

“Always,” he replies. “How’s the new place?”

“Boring.” I glance around the empty apartment and sigh. “Rory’s at work, and Hades is ignoring me, so…”

“So that’s why you called,” my dad surmises. “Because you’re bored and need entertainment.”

With a grin, I drag my fingers along the edge of the table and reply, “Exactly.”

“Well, honestly, I’m surprised we made the list. We’re kind of boring over here, too. You could always call your sister, though. She’s in Uganda?—”

“I heard,” I interrupt.

“Yeah? Well, she misses you. Asked if we could give her your new address so she can send a postcard?” my dad prods. “Says she texted you, but you didn’t answer.”

Guilt lines my insides as I look down at a knot in the wood table and trace it with my finger. “I’ve…been busy.”

“Mm-hmm,” my mom hums. “Well, just know she’s thinking about you.”

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