Page 11 of The Bro Pact
I grab the vanilla ice cream and whipped cream, while Mom sets out a bowl for everyone. As we busy ourselves making brownie sundaes, she finally speaks the words I’ve been dreading.
“We haven’t talked since you and Marissa broke up. I’ve been concerned, Kyle. You two were together for a long time.”
I grab the can of whipped cream, shaking it before squirting a small mountain on top of each scoop of ice cream. The loudwhooshing of pressurized air takes away some of the quiet when I don’t answer right away.
I exhale a long, slow breath. “I know, Mom. I’m sorry,” I say, apologizing for ghosting her. “I just don’t really wanna talk about it, okay? Ren and I are going on this awesome road trip to take our minds off girls, and I’m really looking forward to it. You don’t need to worry.”
“I always worry when you’re with Warren,” Mom says with a sigh. “But don’t ever apologize for not being ready to talk. I just want you to be happy, honey.”
“I will be,” I tell her, knowing I’m happiest when I’m with my best friend.
“I sure hope so,” she whispers, patting my arm gently.
We finish up and put the leftovers away, working silently yet comfortably.
“Well then, let’s serve these beautiful desserts. I don’t know about you, but I was looking to gain a couple pounds tonight,” Mom jokes.
I burst out laughing, nearly dropping the four ceramic bowls I just picked up. “Mom!” I admonish.
We have a good laugh before we carry dessert to the dining room, both of us feeling proud of our creations, even though my mom was the one to actually bake the brownies.
I smile warmly at her as we serve dessert and sit down to enjoy it.
Everyone voices their thanks, diving in and devouring the brownie sundaes. Nothing but clinking spoons and low hums of approval fill the air.
“You boys are going to need a lot of things you aren’t even thinking about,” my mom suddenly says, pushing her half-eaten bowl away. “I have some bags in the garage for you—toilet paper, snacks, drinks, and paper towels. Oh, and just a few otheressentials like hand soap, paper plates, plasticware, a pot, skillet, cookie sheets, spatulas, and a mixing spoon.”
My mom is thorough.
I didn’t think of any of that, and I’m sure Warren didn’t either.
“Mom, you’re the best. What would we do without you?”
“Starve, probably,” she answers unhelpfully. “I don’t want you eating fast food for two weeks, so I expect you to cook and eat healthy too. You should at least be able to fry sausage and scramble eggs. Wash a salad. Those sorts of basic adult things.”
“We got this, Mrs. Fitz,” Ren assures her with his charming smile, slinging an arm over my shoulder. “Kyle can cook, and I’ll drive.”
I shrug his arm off. “Oh, fuck off, Ren.”
He tips his head back, laughing loudly. “It was just a suggestion.”
“Suggestion denied.” I may not be one hundred percent comfortable driving that behemoth, but I’ll be damned if that means I’m stuck in the kitchen cooking the whole time.
My mom chuckles and stands from the table, my dad right behind her. “Well, like I said, honey, the supplies are in the garage, and a few bags are in the fridge. Goodnight and be safe. Call me when you’re comfortable and on the road tomorrow.”
We didn’t tell her we’re leaving tonight.
“Grab the first aid kit out of the garage and take that with you too,” my dad insists, squeezing my shoulder affectionately.
“Good thinking, Randall,” my mom says, giving us both a kiss on top of the head before my parents retreat upstairs, leaving us alone with our siblings.
“Hey, Nelson,” Ren says, licking his bowl clean.
Literally, licking his bowl clean.
“What?” my brother grunts, slowly finishing his own dessert while he steals obvious glances at Val.
“Could you get us some alcohol for our trip?” Ren leans to the side and slips his wallet out of his jeans. He counts out a hundred bucks and scoots it across the table to my brother. “One nice bottle of whiskey, two cheap bottles of vodka, and a twenty-four pack.” He slaps another twenty down. “And that’s for you.”
