38
Aribel
Grant and I stood outside of my parent’s house. He couldn’t stop staring at the massive building, and I couldn’t blame him. It was an enormous six-bedroom brick creation that had been built in the early 1800s. My parents had purchased it when I was three, and it had undergone more historical upkeep and renovations over the years than the White House.
“This is where you grew up?” Grant asked.
“Um, yeah. Home sweet home.”
“Fuck.”
I nodded. I couldn’t imagine what this was like for him. Coming from a broken home, his parents lost to him at ten years old, growing up working at his uncle’s pizza place on the shore…and then seeing this. It made me feel self-conscious, which was a feeling I certainly wasn’t used to.
“Come on. Let’s go inside.”
I’d ditched my leather jacket in fa
