Hours later, home alone, Brian made spaghetti, meatballs, stuffed bell peppers, and a green salad for his dad’s return from the Washington trip. Jim was off doing a gardening job for a widow a few blocks over. He said he felt bad taking money for doing what he enjoyed, and it made Brian love him more.
Dad was on time and Brian ran outside to greet him, jumping on the passenger side of the rig before it came to a halt. The engine stopped and the air brakes hissed.
They hugged on the front lawn. “Son, that sandwich you made for me was awesome.”
Brian controlled his urge to giggle—”awesome” was a gay word. “I missed you, Dad. How’d it go?”
“It was an awesome run and I made good money. Traffic was decent and the rig ran like a dream. How are you doing? Awesome, I hope.”
“I’m okay.”
They
