Page 98 of Prince Charmless
“We can celebrate. And yes, I do have to be commonsensical all the time.”
“I’ve already started researching jobs,” he assures. “You know I always figure things out.”
I look around the prison we’re all sitting in. “Okay, but just try to figure things out legally this time.”
His eyelids droop. “The day I let you two down again will be the day I die.”
And for the first time in days, a smile emerges from my lips.
Dad claps his hands. “Now, where are we going to eat on February fifteenth? If your mom comes, I was thinking of El Cabrito.She likes that place.”
As my Dad and brother fight over which Latin restaurant in St. Claire is the best (not much to fight about, there are very few), I make a mental note to type him out a professional-looking resume. He needs all the help he can get as an ex-con in the job market. Unlike many, he’s lucky enough to have a support system. It’s been less than a year since his arrest, but the transition to life outside of prison is notoriously hard. Not many take pity on the ones who make mistakes, even if they’re the people who need it the most. But if anyone can do it, it’s my father.
At eighteen, I only had a hundred dollars to my name,he would say whenever Mateo or I would complain about something. I’m not sure if it was exactly a hundred dollars. That’s a suspiciously round number, and he tends to exaggerate. But my father’s never lied to me before, and I don’t expect him to start now.
The bickering persists as I take the other Snickers bar. I could use an excuse to celebrate anyway. Anything to cure my week from hell.
32
Taylor
“There you are, boy.” A fully dressed Tom gestures to the dog lying on my kitchen floor. “I woke up and he wasn’t there.”
“You need to get a hold of your beast,” I say. “He’s been bothering me for the past week.”
“Bothering you?”
“Yes. Like trying to get in bed with me at night and waiting for me while I shower.” Vinnie likes to trick the staff into being let in by lying outside my doors and looking depressed.
“Don’t mind him,” Tom says. “He’s always been a little perverted.”
Vinnie greets my brother with a lick to the hand before trotting back over to me. I stare deep into the void of his jet-black eyes. There’s absolutely no thought running in his head. God, I wish I were him.
“What the hell happened to your face?” Tom asks.
“I got punched by an American.”
He squints.
“It’s not a hickey.” Evidently, the more it heals, the more hickeyish it looks.
Tom rubs his chin. “I don’t know what’s less plausible, you getting in a fight or you getting laid.”
I won’t tell him both happened. Although Melina being a vacation lay is what I’m trying not to think about. The flight back was silent and cold. She only asked me questions about travel logistics. I’m going to miss her questions. I’m going to miss the way she looked at me so intently when I answered them. I wish I could scoop her up and run away with her to America orAntarctica or anywhere on the planet where no one will give a shit about us. We could open a bed and breakfast in the woods where our few and far-between customers are mostly hikers and birdwatchers. She could paint, and I could cook her dinner every night. Hell, don’t I deserve a fairytale ending? I’m a prince for fuck’s sake.
Tom gestures his head toward the brownies on the counter. “Did you make those?”
I nod. I found a recipe online and was in the mood for some direction-following.
He looks at his watch. “It’s nine in the morning.”
“I couldn’t sleep.”
“Hey, did you bring me back some of Cassie’s weed like I asked?”
I look at the tray of brownies, then scratch my eyebrow. “Uh, about that—”
Thomas gasps like an actress in a film noir. “You didn’t. You cooked my weed, Taylor?”
