Page 12 of Words I Couldn't Say
EVEN THOUGHTUCKER ANDI had always spent most of our days together, I wasn’t sure how things would progress moving forward. We were in love, so naturally, we were together, but that didn’t mean I didn’t want the standard “are we exclusive?” conversation. It was silly and totally unnecessary—I knew that. Still, I wanted to be able to say Tucker Manning was my boyfriend. He was mine.Sorry, ladies. You had your chances.He was officially off the market.
The next day, the doorbell rang and Mom teased me about the flower delivery. To say I was delighted would have been a massive understatement.
“You two kissed for the first time less than twenty-four hours ago and you’re already getting flowers. Smart boy,” Mom commented.
Smart indeed. Even smarter, I thought when I read the card attached to the flowers.
Morning, beautiful. I’m taking my girl on our first date. Pick you up at 7. And Ava? I love you.
I squealed.
Literally squealed out loud and danced around in a circle before falling down on the couch, closing my eyes, and reliving our first kiss.
I couldn’t wait for the next one. Before last night, I hadn’t thought twice about kissing. Now? It was all I could think about. Lips weren’t made for speaking. No, they were created for the sole purpose of kissing. It was as if Tucker’s were the key unlocking the dam and releasing all of my pent-up emotion and longing. All of my pent-up need.
I released a dreamy sigh, sure I looked like the love-drunk fool I was. No one had ever told me how awesome being in love was. Sure, I’d heard my parents’ own love story countless times, but life was teaching me I had to experience it myself to truly get it.
I was getting it now.
“Funny how history repeats itself, isn’t it?”
My eyes popped open to see my dad reading the card. I leaped up and snatched it out of his hand, glaring at him.
“That’s private! I don’t go reading your love letters to Mom.”
He raised an eyebrow then gave me a knowing smirk. “You learned that lesson the hard way.”
I shivered at the memory. He was right. At twelve, I’d begged my parents to convert our attic into a bedroom for me. With two little baby brothers, I’d found it hard to study lines for whatever production I’d been a part of at the time. Knowing they probably weren’t done having babies (barf), they agreed. The only caveat was that I had to clear it out. Tucker, ever the sidekick, decided to help. One rainy weekend was all it took to have the place almost completely empty. Unfortunately, in the process, we’d uncovered a box of old letters my parents had written to each other. Considering the fact that they’d barely spent a day apart since they’d met, I was curious as to why.
It only took about two paragraphs to understand.
Apparently, to be romantic, my father had written my mother a sexy letter every week before Valentine’s Day. Yes, before. That was because each letter detailed—down and freaking dirty—what he had planned for her that night. I was scarred for life.
Not to mention I never looked at a pastry wheel the same again. I still get the heebies everything Thanksgiving and stay far away from the pumpkin pie.Thanks for that, Dad.
Tucker, a pubescent twelve-year-old boy, had fervently agreed with my dad’s assessment of Mom’s…assets, and I might not have spoken to him for a week.
“Honey, we need to talk.”
I shivered as I was torn from my memories and froze when I glanced up. Oh, good lord. My mother was now standing next to my dad. Nothing good ever came from one of my parents saying that. The two of them together? This could only mean terrible things.
“I’m too young to be a grandpa. Pacey is far too young to be an uncle,” Dad stated matter-of-factly.
My two-year-old baby brother was currently sitting in the middle of the living room floor, bashing two Hot Wheels trucks together over and over again, laughing manically at the wreckage he caused.
“See? He’s so not uncle material.”
“What the heck are you talking about?” I asked.
My dad pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Wait. Do I even want to know what this is about?”
