Mom Handed Us One Lease, So I Handed My Stepbrother My Bed novel · Chapter 3 of 24

Chapter 3: Sunday in Boerne

At Sunday dinner Erwin thanks God for the daughter he got late, hands Jakob a thick envelope for Thanksgiving, and in the truck she sets the terms and then signs a contract on her phone.

Last night I told him to go back to his own room, and he went without a word.

I lay in my twin bed in the heat and listened to him not sleeping on the other side of the wall.

On Sunday we drove to Boerne in his truck for dinner, because neither of us knew how to say no to a mother.

His white F-250 had cedar shavings in the bed and a fire extinguisher behind the seat.

He drove with one wrist hanging over the wheel, the bandaged one, and did not say a word for thirty miles.

I watched his hands.

"You can look at the road," he said.

"I'm looking at the road."

"You're looking at my hand."

"It's on the road," I said.

The corner of his mouth moved, and that was the whole conversation.

My mother met us in the driveway of the limestone ranch house with her arms already open.

She was fifty-four, five feet tall, and in an apron with flour up to the elbow.

"Mija," she said, into my hair. "You look rested."

I felt Jakob stiffen behind me.

"The air conditioner is being replaced," he said.

"Replaced how?" Erwin asked from the porch.

"Fire," Jakob said.

Erwin laughed so hard that he had to take off his hat.

He was a big man with a white mustache, a pearl-snap shirt and a soft face, and he hugged me carefully, with both arms.

He had cried at the wedding, at the rehearsal dinner and at a country song on the radio on the drive.

"My girl," he said. "My girl, you're thin. Nelda, she's thin."

"I'm a nurse, Erwin. I'm fine."

"You'll eat," my mother said.

I did.

My mother had made brisket and fresh flour tortillas, Erwin's potato salad and a pan of pan de polvo.

The table in the dining room had a lace cloth and eight chairs.

Jakob sat across from me.

Under the table, his boot found my sandal, and stayed.

Erwin took my mother's hand on one side and mine on the other, and bowed his head to say grace.

"Lord," he said, in a voice that was already breaking, "thank you for this food and this table."

"And for my son, who works too hard."

"Dad," Jakob said.

"And thank you for the daughter you sent me late. I didn't deserve her, and I thank you anyway."

My mother squeezed my hand.

My throat closed, and I looked at my plate.

Across the table, Jakob's boot pressed harder against mine, and did not move.

I passed him the tortilla warmer after grace.

His thumb dragged across the inside of my wrist as he took it, once, slowly.

I did not drop it, but I came close.

After dinner Erwin walked Jakob out to the carport with a hand on his shoulder.

I was drying dishes at the kitchen window, and I could see them both.

Erwin took a thick manila envelope from inside his coat.

It was sealed, and across the front he had written in block capitals: THANKSGIVING. DO NOT OPEN. DAD.

A return address in the corner belonged to a law office on Main Street.

"Hold on to this for me, mijo," Erwin said. "Don't open it, don't lose it, and don't let it get wet."

"Dad, what is it?"

"A surprise for Thanksgiving. I'll know if you peek."

Jakob took it and looked at it for a long moment.

Then he put it behind the truck seat, next to the extinguisher.

"Don't you ask," my mother whispered at my shoulder. "He's been like this for a month."

"Is it a ring?" I whispered back, to make her laugh.

She did laugh, and she patted my cheek and went back to the pie.

I was twenty-five years old.

I had never thought of my life as one that might get a surprise.

We drove home at dusk with the windows down.

I had decided in the middle of the second tortilla.

"I have rules," I said.

"Okay."

"Nobody tells our parents before Thanksgiving. We tell them after the pie."

He did not look at me.

"Thanksgiving," he said.

"Nobody sleeps over. When it's done, you go back to your own bed."

His hands tightened on the wheel.

"Okay."

"No promises. No after."

"Is there a reason for that one?" Jakob asked.

"Yes."

"Are you going to tell me?" he asked.

"No."

He nodded slowly.

"Okay, Saldana," he said.

That was all he said, and it was somehow worse than an argument.

At a Shell station on the way into town he pulled up to the pumps.

"Ice," he said. "We have no air conditioner and a cooler."

"I'll stay with the truck."

He went in.

I took my phone out of my purse.

The email from Denver was still open, with a gold button at the bottom that said Sign.

On the other side of the glass, Jakob stood at the ice machine, filling a bag with his bandaged arm held out of the way.

I thought of the good chair my mother had given me at her own table, the one for guests.

Then I pressed my thumb to the screen and signed.

When I looked up, he was at the glass, watching me.

He came out with the ice and set it in the bed.

I had turned the phone face down in my lap by then.

He looked at it once and got into the truck.

← Chapter 2 · All chapters · Chapter 4 →

Want to keep talking to characters like these? Chat with AI romance characters: AI Boyfriend · AI Girlfriend · Dark Romance · Fantasy Romance · BL (Boys’ Love) · Billionaire Boyfriend · Mafia Boyfriend · Possessive Boyfriend · Hockey Boyfriend · Older Boyfriend · K-Drama Boyfriend · Anime Boyfriend · Vampire Boyfriend · Werewolf Boyfriend · Demon Boyfriend · Fae Romance · GL (Girls’ Love) · Anime Girlfriend · Goth & Alt Girlfriend · Gamer Girlfriend · Tsundere Girlfriend · Fantasy Girlfriend