Better Than Me

Epilogue

           

A/N: *Spongebob narrator voice* Ten years later... I'm finally done with this book!

I've had a blast going back to a story I wrote so long ago - when I was just a freshman in high school - and rewriting it in a different point of view. I hope you guys have enjoyed getting a look inside Christian's head!

***

Epilogue

I could feel the sweat building up on my hands as I tightly gripped the steering wheel. The trip to my mom's house was one I made pretty often – but I had Sophia with me this time.

Yes. I was introducing Sophia to my eccentric but well-meaning mother, just in time for the holidays. All of a sudden, it felt like we were in the middle of a two hour trip when in reality it was much shorter.

Feeling like I needed to warn her before she stepped into that house and was taken aback by my mother's fast-paced, filter-less way of life, I said, "I've probably told you this before, but since you're about to meet her... my mom is a bit... well... she's something else. We'll put it that way."

"Have you met Tori? I don't think she'll be more than I can handle, Chrissy."

I suppressed a sigh. "You know, I bet if I started calling you Soapy, you'd think twice about keeping that nickname for me."

She narrowed her eyes. "You wouldn't."

"Oh, you know I would."

She paused. "We'll discuss this later."

I shook my head with a small smile, stopping in front of the cozy blue suburban house my mom lived in. I'd bought it for her when I made it big, but she had picked it out. House hunting with my mom was probably more television worthy than most of the shit I'd done throughout the years. I would have gladly bought her something even bigger and nicer, but my mom wasn't a huge fan of my lavish lifestyle, and I was mostly just relieved when she finally made up her mind. Every other house had something "terribly wrong" with it. The porch was too wide, there were too many windows, the floors looked like they'd be too slippery with socks on, there were too many trees outside and she really didn't want to hear birds hanging in them, chirping all the time, the carpet was a "poop brown" color – the list went on. I think she mostly did it to annoy me, but it also showed where I got my annoyingness from.

I turned off the ignition, pocketing the keys. "Don't expect a traditional Thanksgiving dinner, either. I'm thinking it'll be sandwiches or Hot Pockets."

"Will there be pie?"

"Of course," I said. Our Thanksgiving dinners were never anything fancy, unless she bought a turkey that'd already been cooked or ordered a catered meal, but one thing we always delivered on was pie. Store bought, of course.

With her hand on the door handle, she said, "That's all that matters."

Before I had a chance to jump out and get the door for her, she had already opened it and stepped out. By the time I got out, she was walking around the car to stand by me.

"You make it hard to be a gentleman," I said. "You never let me open your door."

She sounded a little exasperated when she answered. "I'm not going to sit there and wait for you to come open my door when I can move my arm two inches and open it myself."

I grabbed her hand, interlacing our fingers. Her hand was considerably smaller than mine, but it felt like a perfect fit to me. "I'll catch you off guard one day. Or you'll just get lazy and give in."