Page 162 of We Shouldn't Be Together
Thank goodness. I can only imagine the moping if he didn’t get it.
Mom hands me a small wrapped box. I blow out a breath, mentally preparing myself for it not to be a set of car keys. If I look disappointed, Mom will take it as a personal attack and delay the inevitability of me getting my car keys.
Dad laughs. “Why do you look like you’re trying not to puke?”
I shake off the face I’m making and gulp a breath. “Sorry,” I murmur.
“Don’t be sorry,” Mom says, stifling a laugh. “We just hope you like it.”
I sneak a glance at both my parents. Oh, geez. They’re both trying not to crack up.
It’s keys.
I’m getting my car.
The nerves flush out of me and I tear into the wrapping paper. I tear off the lid of the small box, and sure enough, there are my keys.
I sigh happily, my shoulders relaxing. “Thanks, guys. Seriously, thanks.”
Mom pats my shoulder. “We’re trusting you to be responsible. Don’t let us down.”
I salute her. “I won’t.”
“You wanna take it for a spin after breakfast?” Dad asks.
I brighten. “By myself?”
“No,” he snorts. “Boy, can’t you wait a day until you go for your test?”
I smirk. “Fine. You can ride shotgun, Dad.”
“Got any plans for the microscope, Milo?” Mom asks, moving toward the kitchen.
“Umm, yes,” he says, still inspecting all the parts. “I’ve been waiting for this more than Kai’s been whining about his car.”
“Pfft. Whining?“ I deflect. “As if.”
Milo looks up, his glass slipping down as he deadpans at me.
“Come on,” Dad says, moving toward the living room. “Let’s check it out. The guy from the dealership dropped it off early this morning. I’m glad you didn’t peek out the front window and ruin the surprise.”
I follow Dad toward the front door. “Is that why you ushered us in to the dining room so fast?”
“Had to find some way to distract you,” Dad says with a chuckle.
With my keys in hand, I leave the house and make my way toward the sleek silver sedan. My stomach flip-flops when the car unlocks. It has that new car smell, and the driver’s seat is buttery smooth in tan leather.
I grab the steering wheel and slouch into a relaxed position. “It’s even better than I remember it.”
“Your mom will still be heating up the frying pan,” Dad says from the front passenger’s seat. “Why don’t we sneak in a trip around the block?”
I start the ignition. “Or maybe three blocks?”
Dad winks. “Maybe.”
The car is a smooth ride. Wow, I’m finally sixteen. Tomorrow, I’ll be going for driver’s test, and then I’ll be able to take this car out whenever I want. Hopefully, with a beautiful curly-haired girl with pouty lips and olive skin by my side.
Before Mom reads us the riot act, Dad I are back in the house. In no time, a stack of three buttercream pancakes sits in front of me, doused in whippedcream and maple syrup. It’s not the same as going to Morton’s Café for the Sunday Special Pancake Stacks, but it’s a close second.
