Page 147 of Still Bruised
He suspected he was going to work from home for most of the time off—even if it was just checking in a few times a day to ensure catastrophe hadn’t set in. Bash had already warned him not to, but he was finally back in the swing of things and feeling confident again. No way was he going to lose an entire week and return to work feeling lost.
Foster could feel the tension in every muscle. His bones were weary. As he walked home from the train station, his fatigue made the trip feel twice as long. He turned the corner for home and noticed a big, refrigerated truck pulling out of their driveway, emblazoned with the logo: Gabriel’s Meats. He sped up, sure it was Jude behind the wheel. Before he could get close to the house, the truck was already at the opposite end of his street.
Fuck!
He marched inside. “Mom! Dad!”
“In the kitchen, hon,” his mom called.
“What was that truck that just pulled out?” Foster asked.
“Jude delivered our Thanksgiving turkey. He didn’t want me taking it earlier today because it was so heavy and he knew you were at work and couldn’t carry it in for me. He’s such a sweetheart.”
“And I missed him,”Foster mumbled to himself, shaking his head.
“What’s that?” his mom asked.
“Nothing,” Foster said. He yawned. “I’m exhausted. I’m going to head up and go straight to bed.”
“Have you eaten? We held dinner late. It’s staying warm in the oven.”
“I told you that you didn’t have to wait,” Foster said.
“Well, we did,” his mother said. She walked over to the oven. “It’s just a pot pie casserole. I wanted to make something easy since we’ll be so busy the next couple of days.” She pulled it out,and his stomach grumbled. “I’ll fix you a plate to take up with you.”
“Thanks, Mom,” Foster said. He pressed a kiss to her temple. “Where’s Dad?”
“Over here.”
He found his father seated at the kitchen table, which was hidden by a bunch of baking implements his mother had stacked on the counter. He was snipping green beans into a massive bowl. “Hey, Dad. Mom’s put you to work, hmm?”
“Somebody’s got to,” his dad said, smiling as he snipped away.
Foster took the plate piled high from his mom. “Did Jude leave a message for me?”
She frowned. “No. He didn’t even want me to mention he was here, in fact.”
“Oh,”Foster said, his shoulders sagging.
“I thought the two of you were friends?” his mother asked.
“We were,” Foster replied, his stomach twisting at the wordwere.
“Oh,”his mom said, concern creeping into the lines on her face.
“I’m glad he delivered the turkey for you. Thatwasnice of him.” Foster forced a smile. “Have a good night. I’ll see you tomorrow. Can we start a bit later so I can sleep in a little? Like ten?”
“Ten sounds good. Rest up, kiddo.”
“I’ll be ready. I promise. Night.”
“Night,” his parents said in unison before the back door shut.
As Foster walked up the apartment stairs, he reached for his phone and typed out a quick message.
Foster
Thanks for helping my parents with the turkey. It’s appreciated.
