Someone You Love by Kristen Granata

Bryce

“How did it go after I left?”

I glance over my shoulder and arch an eyebrow at Nana before returning to the sheetrock in front of me.

“Ah, come on.” Nana waltzes into the room, and lowers herself onto the edge of the mattress. “She’s a sweet girl.”

“She’s chatty.”

Nana cackles. “No, my boy. You’re just anti-social.”

“I’m not anti-social.” I glare out the broken window. “I just like being alone.”

Even when the company is a beautiful woman with gold-spun locks and mesmerizing eyes.

Especiallythen.

“I’m sorry, but I didn’t plan on the storm wrecking Charly’s room. If she’s that awful to live with for a mere couple of weeks, I’ll have her stay at a hotel. Say the word, and it’s done.”

I pause, weighing the options. The woman has already been put out, and her trip just started. She mentioned she’s here for her mother, and I don’t want to be the one to ruin that for her. I know plenty about grief and heartbreak, and I came to Nana’s inn for the same reason she did—to heal.

I should’ve said something to comfort Charly. Been kinder to her. Reassure her that I’ll leave her alone, that I’m not some creep. She was blindsided by the news of living with a stranger, and judging by her wide eyes, and the way she nibbled on her bottom lip, she was just as uncomfortable as I was.

And I didn’t help matters by bringing up house rules like some uptight prick.

Maybe I am anti-social. I never used to be. I was the football star who was always surrounded by an entourage. But after years of isolating myself, it’s like I’ve forgotten how to hold a simple conversation.

“That won’t be necessary.”

Nana fails to hide her pleased smile. “She’s pretty. Looks to be about your age.”

I shouldn’t acknowledge how attractive she is, but I’d have to be dead to not notice. Long blonde hair tumbled down over her shoulders in soft and shiny waves. A natural bright pink tinged her fair cheeks. She wasn’t wearing any makeup, not that I could tell, and she doesn’t need to—it would be a sin to cake anything over those illuminating eyes. Liquid heat spiked through my veins when her curious gaze rolled over me, catching me off guard. Had to remind myself that she wasn’t checking me out. I know what she sees when she looks at me. I haven’t bothered to shave, and haven’t had a haircut in months. I look like I should be carrying around a volleyball named Wilson.

“What’s your point?”

Nana picks off an imaginary piece of lint from the bed. “Maybe you two can be friends.”

Ah. There it is. I turn around to face her. “I have friends.”

She holds up her palms, feigning innocence. “I know you do. I’m just saying, it wouldn’t hurt to have a friend here in town. You hardly see the boys from back home.”

“That’s because they’re busy.” Busy in the life I was once a part of.

Nana frowns. “I’m sorry you had to give up your dreams, my boy. Truly. But I hate to see you hiding yourself away in here. You still have your whole life ahead of you. You can still do something with it, even if it’s not what you originally planned.”

I massage the coiled muscles in my neck. “Nana, please. Not now. I’ve got a lot of work to do.”

“You don’t have to do any of this. You choose to keep yourself busy, and pretend like it’s your duty.” She uses her cane to push to her feet. “But it doesn’t have to be like this, Bryce. You don’t have to be alone all the time.”

Anger surges like the swell of a wave, as it often does whenever Nana broaches this topic. “You’re right. I am choosing to live this way.” I jab my chest with my index finger. “It’s my choice, and I like being alone. This is what I want.”

She scoffs. “No one wants to be alone.”

“I do.”

“You push people away because it’s easier than letting them in.” She steps closer to me. “You do it because you’re scared.” Another step. “But my boy, you are not a coward. I’ve never seen you back down from something.” She stands in front of me, and cranes her neck to look up into my eyes. “The doctors said you’d never walk again, but you did. You’ve never let anything defeat you, not even a spinal cord injury. So, forgive me if I find it hard to believe your bullshit lies about wanting to be alone becauseyou like it.”

A lump rises in my throat, and I attempt to swallow around it to speak, but the words won’t come out. It’s for the best, because they’d only be another lie, and Nana would see right through it.

Sometimes I think she’s a witch. Not the warts, cauldron, and eye-of-newt kind. But there have been several times in my life when Nana has demonstrated a sixth sense.

On my fourth birthday, she bought me my first football. I hadn’t expressed an interest in any particular sport at that age, but it turned out to be the one I was best at. My life revolved around football, and I often wonder how things would’ve turned out if Nana gifted me a soccer ball, or hell, a microscope.

In fifth grade, I’d wanted to be Peter Pan in the school play, but I only made it as far as the understudy. I was crestfallen, but Nana had me practicing the lines every single night after dinner. I told her it was pointless. Steve Kirby was the star of the show, and there was no way he’d miss out on his big acting debut. But Nana insisted. You can’t see the future, but you can prepare for it, she’d said. The night before the show, Mr. Pensky, my drama teacher, called to tell me that I’d be starring as Peter Pan—Steve flipped over the handlebars of his bike after school and broke his collar bone.

Then there was the night of Mom and Dad’s accident. I would’ve been in the car with them when the drunk driver crashed into them if Nana hadn’t asked me to help Pop install the fans in the porch ceiling.

That one fucked with my head for a long time.

I don’t know that she’s a clairvoyant—not sure they exist—but it’s like she just knows things.

“I don’t want to fight with you.” Nana clasps my hand, and gives it a squeeze. “But I wouldn’t be your grandmother if I didn’t tell you the truth, and push you to be your best.”

I nod once. “I can always count on you for the truth.”

“Charly has been through a lot. All I’m asking is that you be nice.”

“I’m nice.”

Nana throws her head back, and laughs. “Would Charly agree?”

I grind my teeth, and look away.

“Carry on with your day, my boy.” She closes the door behind her as she exits the room, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

I peer down at the backyard, watching the specks of sunlight dance across the surface of the pool water. I’ve been numb, living the same mundane existence every day for years. But today, my skin feels tight, and my gut is clenched in a vice grip. My gaze skates over to my house, where Charly is, filling it with her sweet scent of peaches and vanilla. I can feel her presence like a sucker punch from all the way across the yard.

What is that about?

I don’t know this woman. I shouldn’t be this captivated by someone I’ve just met. Plenty of guests have come through the doors of the inn. Plenty of young women looking for a fun time with their friends on a girl’s trip. She should be no different.

Yet the corner of my mouth pulls into a smirk at the memory of her rambling about my manly swinging parts. Which is why I need to stay far away from her—albeit an impossible feat, since she’s living in my house. Five minutes with Charly, and my rusty smile is cracking through.

It’s unsettling.

I roll my shoulders, and close my eyes. Sharing my safe haven with this woman for the next few weeks will be hell.

Sweet, glorious, blissful hell.

Charly

Manly swinging parts?!

I grimace as I survey my appearance in the mirror over the bathroom sink. “Who says that?”

Dinner with Beatrice is in ten minutes, and nerves crawl under my skin like a colony of ants. She said Bryce will be cooking—which intrigues me more than it should—so maybe that means he won’t be eating with us—which disappoints me more than it should.

Why am I thinking about him at all? He was rude and unfriendly, and he could’ve shown a little hospitality being that the room I paid for was not available. I just need to keep my distance, and hope these next two weeks pass quickly. I swipe some clear gloss along my bottom lip, and return to my bedroom to FaceTime Jenny.

“Damn, girl! Look at you.” Jenny’s brown eyes widen. “Move the phone back. Let me get the full effect.”

I grin as I hold the phone out in front of me. My pale-yellow maxi dress is a soft jersey material. It’s just casual enough to not look like I’m trying too hard, but the high slit up my left leg gives it a touch of sexiness. I’d be lying if I said I chose this dress for any reason other than making Bryce’s eyes pop out of his head. He nearly choked on his tongue when I asked him if he slept naked. But after I slipped into the dress, and styled my hair, I felt the start of something new spark inside me. Something more than wanting to look good for someone else.

“I haven’t had the energy to get dressed up for anything in a while. It feels good.”

“See? You’re already getting your groove back. Where are you going?”

“I’m having dinner with Beatrice tonight, and I guess whatever guests are staying at the inn.”

“Bed and breakfasts are so strange to me.” Jenny’s nose wrinkles. “Eating and sleeping with strangers in your own home? No thank you.”

A laugh bursts out of me. “Then you’re going to die when you hear what I’ve got to tell you.”

Jenny gasps and slaps a hand over her mouth when I tell her about my living arrangements with Bryce. “She should’ve told you this before you trekked all the way to Maine. That’s entrapment.”

I roll my eyes. “It’s not her fault. If the storm didn’t blow a tree through her building, this wouldn’t have happened.” I slide open the top drawer of my nightstand, and unfold the bucket list. “Mom told me she wanted me to go on an adventure. To be spontaneous. I can’t run away the second I feel uncomfortable. I have to do this for her.”

Jenny blows out a low whistle. “I get it, babe. I do. But is this safe? I mean, what if this guy is a freak? You need to keep your door locked when you’re sleeping.”

“I will. Though I have a feeling he won’t be around much.” He practically ran out of here after our conversation in the kitchen, like he couldn’t wait to get as far away from me as possible.

Jenny’s chin jerks back. “Hold on. Why are you smiling like that?”

Shit. I blink. “I’m not smiling.”

“Yes, you totally were.” She points her index finger at the screen. “I know that smile. Charlene Rose Johnson, what does this new roommate of yours look like?”

My cheeks flame, and I let out a groan as I bounce down onto my mattress.

“He’s hot, isn’t he?”

“It’s hard to tell what he looks like under all the hair. He has that biker-slash-lumberjack look, where you’d expect him to chop wood in a flannel shirt all day, and then hop on his Harley at night.” My skin prickles at the memory of the muscles in his arm flexing as he rubbed the back of his neck earlier. “He has an incredible body, but he was kind of ... rude.”

“You just described every cast member on Sons of Anarchy. I should pack my bags and come stay with you. You know, for your protection.”

I arch an eyebrow. “Because you’re so big and strong?”

She flexes her bicep. “It’s from all the years of waiting tables.”

“Well, those arms are string beans compared to Bryce’s biceps.” I squeeze my eyes shut, and push the image of his body out of my head. “But it doesn’t matter. I’m here to focus on myself. Figure out what I’m doing with my life after the summer is over.”

“Doesn’t mean you can’t have a summer fling while you’re figuring it out.”

I shake my head, and pull myself up from the bed. “That’ll just make things even more awkward than they already are. Besides, I don’t think he’s interested.”

“Why, is he gay?”

“No.” My shoulders shake with my laughter. “I know this because I asked.”

She grins. “I love your nervous word vomit.”

I smile, but it fades a moment later. “I don’t know how to explain it. Bryce just seems … different.”

Jenny’s eyebrows hit her hairline. “Different how?”

“Almost skittish.”

“Maybe he’s got issues.”

The corners of my mouth tug downward as I try to imagine what could’ve happened to him to make him like this.

“Come to think of it, a grown man living at his grandmother’s inn sounds odd. Maybe he doesn’t have all his faculties.”

“Jenny,” I hiss. “That’s terrible to say.”

She pops a nonchalant shoulder. “Could be true.”

I roll my eyes. “All right. I have to go. Don’t want to be late.”

Jenny pouts. “Can you keep me on FaceTime so I can see what your new living partner looks like?”

“Not a chance. Love you.”

“Love you more. I expect hourly updates!”

I end the call, and shake my head. Jenny and I have been friends since junior high. She’s a bit more outspoken than I am, and she’s always been able to make me laugh, even when I didn’t think I could. We’ve been there for each other through everything, from first kisses to college. She held my hand during all of Mom’s chemo appointments, celebrated with us when she was in remission, and she held me when I cried after Mom was gone. She’s the only form of family I have left, and it kills me to be away from her. But I need to do this.

The pool is still empty as I pass and cast a longing glance at the still water. I’d have already taken a dip if I didn’t have to unpack and get ready for dinner. There’s something so serene about shutting out the rest of the world, and gliding under the quiet of the water. I’ll have to go for a swim tomorrow.

When I arrive in the lobby, Beatrice welcomes me with an air kiss on each side of my face. “Right on time, my dear. You look stunning in that dress.”

“Thank you.” I gesture to my plain white sandals. “I’m looking forward to our shopping spree so I can find a pair of heels to go with it.”

She clasps her hands over her chest, pure glee emanating from her blue eyes as if I told her I was giving her a million dollars. “We’ll find you the perfect pair. I know just the place.”

She takes my elbow and leads me through the lobby. Several guests sit on couches, talking and laughing with one another. Beatrice points them out as we pass by, explaining who they are and what they’re in town for. Many of them visit annually, and I can see why they’d want to come back to a place like Sunnyside.

I wonder if I will too.

The dining room is magnificent. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlook the flowers and trees that surround the inn outside. The large wooden table seats twelve people, and there are smaller round tables lining the perimeter of the room by the windows.

Beatrice takes the seat at the head of the long table, and gestures for me to sit beside her. “Tell me, dear. Are you terribly upset with me over your living arrangements?”

“No. I do feel bad for Bryce though.”

Beatrice waves a dismissive hand. “Don’t you worry about him. He could use the company. If I’m being completely honest, I think this will be good for him.”

My head tilts. “What do you mean?”

Beatrice searches the room like she’s trying to find the right words to say. “My grandson keeps to himself. It pains me to see him like this. He wasn’t always such a grump. I think you two might be looking for the same thing, and I think some companionship might help you find it.”

I want to ask what happened to make Bryce such a recluse, but I don’t want to pry. If she wanted to share more, she would’ve. Still, my mind wanders to the possible scenarios. Whatever it is seems to weigh heavily on Beatrice.

I reach over, and cover her thin hand with my own. “Bryce is lucky to have a grandmother who cares about him like you do.”

She offers me a wistful smile. “We’re lucky to have each other. That boy is the most important thing in my life. As I’m sure your mother felt about you.”

A lump rises in my throat, emotion pricking my gut. “We were a team. We did everything together. It’s strange moving through life without her now. I still get the urge to call her, forgetting she won’t be there to pick up.”

“She’s always with you in spirit. Just like my Benjamin.” Beatrice gestures to the open room. “My husband is woven into these walls, and he’ll always be a part of me. This inn is how I keep his memory alive.”

My heart aches for her. “I want to keep my mom’s memory alive too. I don’t want to forget about her, and move on. I want to make her a part of my life even though she’s not here to share it with me. She’s the reason I came here. She wanted me to live my life to the fullest.”

Beatrice beams. “Then that’s exactly what you shall do.”

The door behind us swings open, and my breath catches in my throat. Bryce makes his way to the table, balancing two large platters on his left forearm. A white apron cinches his waist, and his hair is pulled away from his face in a messy bun. Sweat beads along his skin, the kind of sheen one gets from standing over a hot stove. He deposits the trays onto the table, and my lips part on a gasp at the assortment of appetizers: mini-quiches, stuffed mushrooms, deviled eggs, and pigs in a blanket on one dish, and the other a Pinterest-worthy charcuterie board filled with a variety of meats, cheeses, fruit, and crackers.

“Wow.” My eyes fly up to Bryce. “This looks delicious.”

He gives me a tight nod without making eye-contact, and turns around to disappear back into the kitchen.

Beatrice chuckles as she slides a small plate my way. “The boy is modest. He works magic in that kitchen.”

Beatrice isn’t kidding. I close my eyes upon the first bite of a spinach quiche, and relish in the sweet, buttery taste of the crust mixed with the salty cheese. “Did he make these from scratch?”

She gives me a proud nod. “His grandfather taught him everything he knows about cooking. My Benjamin was a chef.”

The other guests fill the rest of the seats around the table, making small talk, and commenting on Bryce’s delectable hors d’oeuvres. Out of habit, I stand and begin filling their glasses with the water from the crystal pitcher on the table.

Beatrice dabs the corner of her mouth with her napkin. “Sit, my dear. You’re not on duty.”

“I’ve got it. You stay and finish eating.” Once the pitcher is empty, I make a beeline for the kitchen. “Just going to fill this up, and I’ll be right back.”

The mouth-watering scent of garlic and lemon surrounds me when I step inside the large kitchen. Unlike the cottage style of the rest of the inn, this room resembles the kitchen of a five-star restaurant, with stainless steel countertops and appliances, pots hanging from hooks, and a set of magnetic chef’s knives along the wall.

But my attention is pulled to the center of the room, where Bryce’s big shoulders hunch over the island, his thick brows pinched together in concentration. With his bottom lip pulled between his teeth, he drizzles a thick cream sauce over a long slab of salmon. He reaches for a handful of green sprouts, and sprinkles them on top for garnish. Then he turns the plate, eyeing it from every angle. He’s careful and absorbed in his work, like an artist while he’s painting.

His deep voice startles me. “You stare any harder, you’ll burn a hole right through me.”

My stomach tenses. “Sorry. I didn’t think you noticed me.”

His obsidian eyes lock on mine. “I notice everything.”

A shiver racks my body as his baritone voice slides over me like warm butter. “I didn’t come in here to stare at you like a weirdo. We have no water. I mean, we have it. The water isn’t shut off or anything. But we ran out of it.” I grimace and lift the pitcher, because pantomiming is a better option than whatever’s spewing out of my mouth right now.

The slightest smirk tugs his lips to the left, but it vanishes before I can fully appreciate it. “Filtered water is on the door of the fridge.”

“Got it.” I duck my head, and hurry to refill the pitcher. “Everything looks great. I’m salivating over the smell of that salmon right now.”

As well as the sight of you preparing it.

“You allergic to anything?”

I shake my head. “Though I wish I were allergic to chocolate. Maybe that’d stop me from eating so much of it.”

He turns his full attention to me, letting his gaze trail down the length of my body, lingering on the sliver of my bare leg before returning back to the fish. “You should eat whatever you want.”

My cheeks heat. “With your cooking, I don’t think I’ll be able to resist. Those quiches are scrumptious.”

“If you tell me what you like, I can make sure to have it on hand.”

“Whatever you make, I’m sure it’ll be amazing. You don’t have to do anything special for me.”

“Why not?”

I absorb the low rumble of those two simple words. I open my mouth, but close it again, not wanting to cheapen his honest question with an excuse of an answer. He’s right. Why can’t I let someone do something special for me? Why does it feel strange to accept a simple kind gesture? I’ve taken care of my mother. I take care of the diner. I’ve always been a caretaker. I never saw a problem with it until I realized how disconnected I was from the people in my life. Even Greg saw it before I did. You rely on yourself for everything so you don’t need anyone.

I make it a point to answer Bryce’s question. “I love seafood. Shrimp, crab, lobster, all kinds of fish.” I tap my finger on my chin. “And I absolutely love breakfast foods.”

Bryce smiles, as if knowing what I like to eat pleases him. “I can do that.”

Those lips stretching across his face, giving way to a row of straight bright teeth, takes my next breath right out of me. His eyes shine like black ink spilled onto a crisp white page, and his whole face lights up.

And that’s when I realize I’m in trouble, because a considerate, smiling Bryce makes my stomach flip.

Leave, Char. Before you say something embarrassing.

I huff out a nervous laugh, and wave a hand, though it comes out more like a weird spasm. “Well, I should get back in there before your grandmother thinks I skipped out on dinner.”

Just as I reach the door, Bryce calls out to me. “You might want to fill the pitcher before you go back in there.”

Glancing down at the empty decanter in my hand, I cringe. “Oh, right.”

I scurry to refill it, and get out of there as fast as I can.

When I return to the dining room, Beatrice is talking to one of the guests at the table. “That’s how I knew I wanted to turn this place into a bed and breakfast. Everyone told me I was crazy, but a woman who knows what she wants is a force to be reckoned with.” Beatrice pats my knee as I take the seat beside her. “We’re talking about our dreams. What is it that you want out of life, my dear?”

I tilt my head as I ponder it. “All I ever wanted was for my mom to be healthy. Now that she’s gone, the focus is on me, and I’m not sure which way to turn.” I swirl the ice inside my glass. “I have a business degree after taking online classes, but haven’t done anything with it. I manage the diner by my apartment, but that’s not exactly a career I see myself doing for the rest of my life.”

Beatrice clicks her tongue. “What is it with your generation and thinking you have to have everything planned out for all of eternity?” She rolls her eyes. “Please. Life is a living thing. You can’t expect everything to stay the same. What you do today might not work in five years. You have to grow and evolve with the twists and turns life takes you on. You don’t need to have everything figured out right now.” She jerks her thumb behind her. “Do you think I’ve always planned on turning my home into an inn? Right now, you’re managing the diner. Maybe one day, you’ll outgrow that and find something different. Or maybe you won’t, and that’s okay too. What matters is that you’re happy doing whatever it is that you do. You’ll always be faced with choices along the way, and each choice you make will determine the direction you go. Stay or go. What matters is that you follow your happiness.”

Several guests lift their glasses in praise.

“Follow your happiness.” I smile. “I like that.”

Now I just have to find out what makes me happy.

After dinner, which is beyond delicious, Bryce emerges from the kitchen holding a glass cake platter.

Beatrice claps. “I hope you’ve all saved room for dessert.”

Groans sound around the table. I pat my stomach with a sated smile, but I’m eyeing the dish because, let’s face it, there’s always room for dessert no matter how full you are.

Bryce sets it down in the middle of the table, revealing a creamy cheesecake with fresh strawberries on top, drizzled in strawberry sauce.

He turns back for the kitchen, but Beatrice wraps her hand around his wrist. “Sit, my boy. Enjoy some dessert with us.”

His eyes dart to the empty chair beside me, and he shakes his head. “Dishes.”

I don’t know if it’s the embarrassing fact that he doesn’t want to sit next to me, or that he has to clean the dishes after slaving over a three-course meal, but I spring out of my seat. “The cook shouldn’t be on dish duty. I’ll do them.”

“No, I’ve got them.”

I waltz past him as if I didn’t hear him.

When I’m standing in front of the sink, I twist my hair into a top knot, and squeeze the soap onto the sponge. The door creaks behind me, and I chew my bottom lip waiting to see what Bryce will say.

Without turning around, I throw his words back at him. “You stare any harder, you’ll burn a hole right through me.”

“I’m not staring. I’m glaring at you for doing the dishes when I told you I’d do them.”

I glance over my shoulder. “Funny, your stares and your glares all look the same.”

He grunts, and walks toward me. “I don’t need you to help me. I’m perfectly capable of doing the dishes myself.”

“I know that. But my mother had a rule: The cook never cleans her own dishes.” I shrug. “You cooked an amazing three-course meal. The least I can do is help.” When he says nothing, I offer another option. “Why don’t I rinse off the dishes, and you can stack them in the dishwasher? Something tells me you’ve got rules about the way a dishwasher gets loaded. Tell me, have you thought of any new ones since this afternoon?”

He grunts again, propping his cane on the edge of the counter. “Not yet.”

“Maybe I’ll get some paper so you can write them down, and tack them onto the wall.” I laugh. “You know, you should be thrilled that I’m such a helpful guest. Anybody else would try to take advantage of your generosity.”

“They’d try, but they’d fail.”

I side-eye him, my gaze skating over his arms. “You’re right. They’d be too scared of you to try anything. I know I would be.”

His body stiffens beside me as if I doused him in ice water. “You’re afraid of me?”

“What? No. That’s not what I said.”

His eyes narrow, and he takes a step away from me. “What have you heard about me? Did Nana tell you, or did you look me up?”

What is he talking about?

My eyebrows draw together. “I haven’t heard anything. I was just joking with you.”

“Don’t lie to me. You wouldn’t have said that if you didn’t know something.”

Know what?

I turn off the faucet, and swivel to face him, pressing my wet palms to my chest. “I honestly don’t know what you are referring to.”

His eyes widen. “You’re a reporter.” He scrubs his hand over his jaw, and lets out a sardonic laugh. “This whole I’m sad because my mother died thing is all an act, isn’t it? Shit. You’ll stoop that low just to get a story. Unbelievable.”

“Excuse me?” Anger shoots through me like a bolt of electricity. “I don’t know who the hell you think you are speaking to me like that, but I can assure you, I would never lie about my mother’s death. Certainly not to get close to a jerk like you. How dare you accuse me of something like that.”

“Look, I—”

“No.” I plant my hands on my hips. “I might be a guest in your house, but that does not give you the right to talk to me this way. Add that to your list of rules.”

Before he can say another absurd word, I storm out of the kitchen, out of the inn, and I don’t stop until I’m inside the house.

His house.

“Ugh!” My chest heaves as I stomp into the bedroom. I fling myself onto the bed, and flip open the cover of the journal Mom got me:

June 9^th

Dear Mom,

This trip is off to a rocky start, and it’s only the first day. Sunnyside is beautiful. Beatrice is so nice. It’s her ass of a grandson who I have a problem with. I don’t know what his issue is. I get that it’s an inconvenience to have me in his house, but he lives at a bed and breakfast. That’s literally what people do—they live in your house!

He blew up at me tonight, and it was the most bizarre thing. Why would a reporter pose as a grieving daughter? And who would want to write a story about him? Who the hell is he? World’s biggest jerk, that’s who. I’m tempted to Google his name, but that would mean I actually care. And I don’t. This guy has issues, and I deserve an apology. End of story.

I wish you were here, Mom. You would love this place.

Minus the asshole who lives here.