Author: K.F. Breene
Category: Vampires
Go to read content：https://readnovelfree.com/p/14833_3
Happy anniversary, indeed.
“Mom, I know where the bedroom is,” I said as we passed the hall closet that still didn’t have doors thirty years after my dad had designed and built the house.
“Yes, I know, but I made a new quilt and want to make sure it’s okay,” she said.
“It’ll be fine, Ma, I swear—” I fell mute as we reached the room’s open doorway. A stiff-looking turquoise and brown quilt rested on the double bed in the midst of a sea of books. “That’s…lovely. What’s the story with all these books?”
“You think so?” She beamed, heading into the room and pulling up the corner of the quilt. It moved like thin plywood. “I took up quilting. That sewing room is the only place I can get out of the heat!”
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I glanced at the open windows, letting in the chill fall air. “Oh yeah?”
“Yes! Your father is so fat, you’d think he’d be insulated enough, but still the house is a furnace.” She huffed. “I found some patterns for quilts at the fabric store. I made them extra warm.”
I paused for a moment, contemplating the irony of that, but decided to press her about the state of the room instead. “What happened in here?” I asked. “What’s that?”
In addition to the books that had been stacked horizontally on every surface and heaped around the bed, a random pile of fur sat in the corner.
“Oh, that. Well, your dad shot an elk last year, but it wasn’t big enough to warrant stuffing the head, so he took the skin. It struck me—what was that Native American tribe that scalped people?” I stared at her, struck mute. “All the white men at the time acted so superior about that, didn’t they? How barbarian to scalp a kill, they said. And look at this! He cuts off heads and hangs them on the wall, and when that isn’t glorious enough, he scalps their bodies. Who’s the barbarian now?”
My mom pursed her lips and turned down the bed.
“That’s…” Best to ignore. Except… “Why is it in the corner? In a pile?”
“He wants to hang it somewhere.”
“But…isn’t Chris’s old room for all Dad’s junk?”
I wasn’t the only one who’d bounced back here—my brother Chris had come to stay with them a few years ago after a tough breakup. The state of the place had not only driven him out of the house, but out of the state, as well. He was now on the East Coast, happy to be on his own in a clutter-free zone.
“That’s the man cave. He’s got so much junk in there, he worried the elk scalp would get lost,” my mother replied.
I didn’t bother to tell her that scalps were on heads and pelts were on bodies. I didn’t think she’d care either way.
“Hmm. Do you need closet space? Because…” She pushed open the dirt-brown closet doors, revealing her clothes and shoes.
I’d never really noticed how many different shades of brown existed in this house. It was like they’d chosen a color palette with various shades of poop.
Sweat prickled my brow. The urge to flee was strong. “Why do you use this closet? Why not your closet?”
“There’s a bunch of old clothes I don’t wear in my closet.” She pushed a few things over, sparing a couple feet of hanging room. “There. That should do you. You mostly wear sweats anyway, right? You don’t need to put those in here. They can stay in your suitcase.”
I didn’t ask what had happened to my old dresser. It wasn’t here, at any rate.
“Right. Fine,” I said, suddenly exhausted.
“Need another beer?”
“Yes. Keep ’em coming. Morning, noon, and night. Just keep ’em coming.”TwoThe next morning, I blinked up at Brad Pitt with his long hair and little smirk. Some of his chest peeked out of his open shirt. Legends of the Fall was scrawled across the bottom of the poster.
My mother slept in this room more often than not because of my dad’s snoring, yet she’d never taken down the hot guy poster from yesteryear? Brad Pitt wasn’t even that hot, anymore. Sure, he was still technically a looker, but he’d crapped on my girl Jennifer, and he’d gotten all scruffy with Angelina, and then he’d pressured her to marry him, only to get a divorce and contact Jennifer again…
I mean, the guy was a dung-dance of dependency. It needed to be said.
He didn’t deserve a place on my ceiling. That was a girl’s crush. A girl who hadn’t yet played the game and lost—and then glugged all the wine, flipped the table over, and slurred obscenities on her way out of there.
I was older now. Wiser. I was done getting sidetracked by a pretty face. Looks tarnished.
Brad had to go.
I flung the covers away, stood on the mattress, and tore from the edge of the poster. Brad’s face split in two. The tape stuck fast.