I've Got Summer

T W E N T Y - T H R E E

C H R I S

The plumber did everything, and finished quickly. I had a working shower and sinks in no time. That was one step closer to getting it all finished. The plumber was polite, but didn't really stay to chat at all, so once he was done I had some time to myself again.

With all the doors and windows up, the only thing left for Dave and I to do—before I was ready for all the stuff Summer wanted to help with—was insulate and cover the walls. We'd have to wait with the covering, though, since the panels and tiles wouldn't come until the next week.

But all that aside, I felt amazing. Nothing could bring me down from my high after last night. Nothing. Not even the missed call from dad when I woke up that morning. I chose to ignore it and called the plumber instead, choosing joy over misery.

My eyes traveled over the marvelous house I'd built with my own two hands, pride blooming from the deepest, darkest crevices of my chest. Those chambers had been locked up without a key since I was a kid, but now—now it was unlocking itself and peeking through. And I blamed Summer for opening me up, with her big smiles and infectious laughter.

She was a force of her own, pulling me in.

The way she held my hand and stroke my fingers even as I told her about my shitty dad and careless mother was so oddly comforting, I ended up a little baffled and confused. Her determination as she told me she didn't have the wrong brother convinced me to drop the subject—for now—and I continued to have a wonderful night with her.

I could see why she enjoyed books as well. I started the one I got for myself after I got home, and I was way more into it than I thought I would be. And it was a nice distraction, even if I did dream of Summer's shiny lips kissing other parts of me than my mouth..

The sound of my phone brought me out of my trancelike state, pulling my thoughts away from Summer and the inappropriate things I wanted to do with her. I was seated on the steps of my porch, just admiring the house, my hard work and my new life, and decided it couldn't hurt to answer the call.

"Hello, Your Honor," I said once the phone was against my ear. I almost wanted to call him Mr. Moran, or dad, just to rile him up...but I was in a good mood.

"Hello, Christopher," he replied as if my name was on one of his case files. It sounded so strange from him, yet it was the only decent thing he called me. I'd take that over 'spawn' or 'offspring' any day. "I heard from your mother that Nicolas is planning to visit your fantasyland."

It wasn't a question, so I waited to reply. But when he didn't add anything to it, I said, "Yes, Nick's coming next weekend."

"Why didn't you extend an invitation to your poor mother and myself? Not enough space in your hut?"

I ground my teeth to get out the frustration I felt. He wasn't worth it. I could hold on to my great mood, even if I talked to the biggest asshole to ever walk the earth. The tree from which my apple had fallen. That thought sent doubts rolling through my whole body..

"I didn't think you'd be interested," I replied honestly, even if my jaw was clenched and the words were hard to form. The polite reflex to say they could come as well got stuck in my throat.

My dad's booming fake laugh hurt in my ear. "Of course we'd be interested," he said, though I could hear the lie just as clear as I saw the fresh lumber on my house. "Wouldn't want to miss our opportunity."

"What do you mean?" I bit my tongue before I called him something he wouldn't like. I'd received earfuls of reasons why it's never appropriate to say "dad" to him. Especially not in public. "Father" could be acceptable at home, but otherwise? Not at all.