Chapter 8
With Mom home, there’s no talk of grabbing something fast and easy for dinner—after she’s finished with the vacuum, she shoos Joey and me out of the kitchen so she can put a roast on. When I try to run a load of laundry, she banishes me to the living room. “Let me do this, Brian,” she says, as if I’ve never operated a washing machine before. “You boys go watch tv with your father. I’ll call you when dinner is ready.”
Joey and Dad sit on the sofa; I claim the recliner. Dad nods off while the news is on and Joey keeps stealing glances at me every now and then. The way he looks over at me makes me suspect he’s still thinking about blowjobs. I could rock your world, I think, but I don’t dare say that out loud. Not here, not now. Maybe tonight. Who knows where the night will lead?
