Page 69 of Red Obsession

While Izel and I hold onto each other's hand, her leg bouncing against the passenger door as she hums to the Christmas music, per Gabriel’s request. I want to bash my head into the steering to stop the nerves wrecking my body that I’m finally bringing a girl home to meet Ma.

Sure a few weeks ago they met after the kitchen island incident, but this was the first time I’m bringing a girl home. It’s serious, and, fuck, are my hands sweating? Or is it her hands? I purposely take the long way to Ma’s house, trying to come up with any reason why we can’t just go back home. Maybe we could get stuck in a snowstorm, but so far, no such luck. I really need to stop murdering people and get my luck back up.

“Are we lost?” Gabriel asks from the back seat. “I think we passed that tree a few times already.”

And a few more times won’t hurt anyone. The snow is coming down a little harder now and if I just keep getting “lost,” then we can just go back home.

Home.

“Zion.” Izel squeezes my hand. “Are we lost?” She smiles, peeking over at me. She knows I’m not lost. I should know where my mother lives. I’ve only gone there a million times.

Shaking my head, I turn my blinker on and finally head down Ma’s private road. While the road used to feel like it took forever until her house came into view, it only lasts two seconds before I’m pulling up next to her sedan.

“Wow.” Izel drops my hand, shoving the door open. Gabriel is right behind her, both of them staring at Ma’s house.

Turning the truck off, I make my way around the hood, stopping next to Izel. “Stop helping yourself down. Wait for me.” I growl.

“What color is it?” she asks. Ignoring me she reaches for my hand.

“Baby blue, white windowsills,” Gabriel answers, just as Ma swings the door open.

“What are you crazy kids doing out there? Get inside!” Ma waves us in. Gabriel takes off running up the stairs barely pausing to hug her. Ma laughs, waiting for us.

Izel tries to drop my hand as she takes off. Refusing, she yanks my hand, dragging me up the stairs. Izel wraps one arm around Ma due to the fact I’m still holding onto her hand. I know I should let go; my mother is bound to say something about me being possessive.

Which comes true when Izel backs away and I one arm hug Ma. “Can’t let her go, huh?” She attempts to whisper but fails because Izel giggles behind me.

“Never.” I smile over at Izel, who blushes and once again tries to drop my hand.

“Alright, come on, children. Hams in the oven. Zion I need you to get started on those mashed potatoes. Do you or Gabriel cook?” Ma asks, rushing into the kitchen.“Izel, are you allergic to anything?”

“No, ma’am.”

“What have I told you about this ma’am? It’s either Ma or Louise, please. Gabriel, are you allergic to anything?”

“Uh, well… just strawberries,” he mutters, shoving another cookie into his mouth.

“Well, then, I guess I won’t be making my famous strawberry pie.” Ma shrugs. I have no idea what this strawberry pie is and that she even made it. So, when Izel glances up at me, I shrug and walk over to the kitchen table, pulling her down onto my lap.

“These cookies are delicious; you must show me how they’re made.” Gabriel shoves another cookie into his mouth, walking over to the fridge and grabbing a beer.

“Gabriel Hollow!” Izel stands from my lap, dropping my hand. “First off, no beer for fucks sake, you’re only twelve! Second, did you even ask if you could have something to drink, or heck, to eat before you just come in here like you own the house!”

“Honey, you both don’t need to ask to drink something here! My home is your home.” Ma smiles brightly at Izel. “We have tons of juice, soda somewhere in there, oh, and Zion's favorite!”

“His favorite?”Izel gives me a puzzled look.

“Chocolate milk, of course! I’m surprised you haven’t seen the gallons he keeps inside his fridge.” Ma laughs, getting busy making the gravy. “Mashed potatoes, my boy.”

Oh, right. I’m supposed to make mashed potatoes. How can I forget while my mother’s revealing I have a slight obsession with chocolate milk? Ignore the fact I’m a thirty-three-year-old man, who kills people for a living, who enjoys chocolate milk more than a three-year-old toddler.

“Zion…” Gabriel tries to hide his laugh. While Izel on the other hand doesn’t. She burst out laughing, hands on her knees as she attempts to control herself.

“How did we not know this?” Izel wheezes out.

Probably because the fridge in the garage holds a dozen gallons.

I don’t say anything as I wash, peel, and cut potatoes, ignoring the three hooligans laughing at me.

---