Page 71 of Calling the Shots

On the way to my truck, I text Gracelyn.

Mack: Meeting the boys at Mustang’s for a beer. I’ll be home by ten

Firecracker: Boo. I’m gonna miss you

Mack: Sleepover tonight? My place?

Firecracker: Tempting…

Mack: Key’s under the mat. Be naked when I get there

Firecracker: You’re awfully presumptuous. Who said I was coming?

Mack: Oh, you’re coming all right. All night long…

Firecracker: When you put it like that…

Mack: See you later

She sends a kissy face emoji and I toss my cell onto the passenger seat, firing up the truck. I’m almost to Mustang’s when the phone rings. Assuming it’s Gracelyn, I pick up without checking caller ID.

Big mistake.

“Hello, Ulysses.”

Fuck.

My throat dries up, palms instantly sweating on the wheel. There’s only two people on this planet that call me by my real name, and only one of them is female.

“Hello, Mother.”

“It’s been an absolute age since we chatted. I assume you’re coming for Thanksgiving? You haven’t been home since last Christmas. Not that I’m keeping track.”

Double fuck.

The last thing I want to do is spend the long holiday weekend with my family. But she’s right—it has been a long time since I’ve been home and I suppose I do owe my parents a visit.

“Um, sure. I guess.”

“Such enthusiasm, Ulysses.” Her tone snarky, my guard’s already rising. “What’s going on in your world, dear? Since we never talk. How’s the woodworking business?”

“Fine. Business is good.”

“I do wish you would have pursued something less…” She pauses for a long second, choosing her words. “Working class.” Her voice drops, almost as if she can’t bear the phrase.

“I like what I do, Mother. And I make a good living from it, too.” I exhale long and slow, trying to maintain my composure as I slide into a spot at Mustang’s.

I’m going to need a beer after this conversation. Talking to my mom always has this effect. The main reason I limit contact.

“A living subsidized by us. But it’s fine. You can use your inheritance however you want, now that you’re of age.”

Nice dig there.

“And what about your love life? I’m not getting any younger here. I’d love a grandbaby before I die.”

My hand grips the worn leather wheel and I stare at the exterior of the bar, debating mentioning Gracelyn.

“Actually, I have met someone.”

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