Read Online The Super: A Bad Boy Romance by Anne Connor - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Anne Connor
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you? I heard all about her from your mom.”
“Oh…” My mom shoots Richard a glance and shakes her head in quick, small bursts.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Trouble in paradise? It seems like you’re going through a little bit of a rough patch, son.”
“Something like that. It’s actually good to be away from it all. I took my Mustang up here. Good to feel the breeze in my hair for once.”
“Good for you. Hold onto that. When you’re my age, you’ll be lucky to have any hair.” Richard puts a hand on his head. He’s balding slightly, but he still looks great.
“Oh, I’m not afraid of going bald,” I respond. “I think an older man with a bald head can look distinguished.”
“Tell that to my ex-wife!”
The three of us laugh, but all this feel-good talk and closeness is making me feel itchy.
“You’re not older, Rich. And anyway, some things get better with age,” my mom says, looking at Richard with a sympathetic smile.
“Like me,” he responds. “Or a nice cheese.”
“Or wine,” I add, separating myself from the table. “I’m going to go check out the attic. You need me to do anything up there?”
“No, no. Rich helped me clear some of the stuff out. Take anything else up there that you want. I probably would have ended up shipping it to you, anyway.”
I make my way up the narrow stairs to the attic. It’s just as dusty as I remember. I don’t blame Mom for wanting to sell the place, and if it were up to me, I would do a full gut-renovation on it until the thing is fucking unrecognizable.
All that remains, tucked in a corner of the attic, are a few boxes and the spare couch we kept up there for guests back when the space was usable as a spare bedroom. All the Christmas decorations and board games are gone.
I recognize the boxes right away as the place where I had tucked away all the mementos I collected from high school. Yearbooks, football trophies, my science fair ribbons, my bowling ball and shoes - everything that would remind me of my life before moving to the city has been set into the boxes.
These things aren’t just reminders of the past - they’re everything we’re supposed to keep as reminders of the past. That’s what they’re for. That’s why we have them.
And here mine are, packed up into some shitty, dusty boxes in a house I don’t live in or even visit much anymore.
I dig into the box and open up the back cover of my Senior yearbook. I don’t want to look at pictures of my old classmates - I’m friends with all of them on social media and can see pictures of them whenever I feel like it. I don’t want to see pictures of them from Senior year of high school. No one actually looks good in high school, and to make matters worse, it was the early 2000s.
Instead, I go straight for all the messages my classmates wrote to me, and seek out the message from the girlfriend I had Senior year.
I don’t have to look far. I know exactly where that loopy pink handwriting is - right in the top corner of the back cover.
Drew, don’t ever change! You’re a truly special guy, and I hope you have fun in college. I hope we can still be friends!
She didn’t even sign it. She didn’t have to.
It’s strange, in a way. I had so many girlfriends in high school and college, and so many cheap, disposable one night stands before settling down with Clarissa. It’s like Amanda represented all of them, the way she kept her message anonymous. Or maybe she didn’t sign it because she thought I’d never forget her.
The truth is that this simple message means both things to me, all at once.
When I get back to the kitchen with my box of memories, Richard is still sitting at the table with mom.
“I’m just going to put these things in the car. I’ll be back in a minute. I’m not particularly keen on rushing back to the city. If it’s okay with you, maybe I could stay here tonight.”
“Of course you can, Drew. Maybe we can go into town for a movie.”
“That’d be
“Oh…” My mom shoots Richard a glance and shakes her head in quick, small bursts.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Trouble in paradise? It seems like you’re going through a little bit of a rough patch, son.”
“Something like that. It’s actually good to be away from it all. I took my Mustang up here. Good to feel the breeze in my hair for once.”
“Good for you. Hold onto that. When you’re my age, you’ll be lucky to have any hair.” Richard puts a hand on his head. He’s balding slightly, but he still looks great.
“Oh, I’m not afraid of going bald,” I respond. “I think an older man with a bald head can look distinguished.”
“Tell that to my ex-wife!”
The three of us laugh, but all this feel-good talk and closeness is making me feel itchy.
“You’re not older, Rich. And anyway, some things get better with age,” my mom says, looking at Richard with a sympathetic smile.
“Like me,” he responds. “Or a nice cheese.”
“Or wine,” I add, separating myself from the table. “I’m going to go check out the attic. You need me to do anything up there?”
“No, no. Rich helped me clear some of the stuff out. Take anything else up there that you want. I probably would have ended up shipping it to you, anyway.”
I make my way up the narrow stairs to the attic. It’s just as dusty as I remember. I don’t blame Mom for wanting to sell the place, and if it were up to me, I would do a full gut-renovation on it until the thing is fucking unrecognizable.
All that remains, tucked in a corner of the attic, are a few boxes and the spare couch we kept up there for guests back when the space was usable as a spare bedroom. All the Christmas decorations and board games are gone.
I recognize the boxes right away as the place where I had tucked away all the mementos I collected from high school. Yearbooks, football trophies, my science fair ribbons, my bowling ball and shoes - everything that would remind me of my life before moving to the city has been set into the boxes.
These things aren’t just reminders of the past - they’re everything we’re supposed to keep as reminders of the past. That’s what they’re for. That’s why we have them.
And here mine are, packed up into some shitty, dusty boxes in a house I don’t live in or even visit much anymore.
I dig into the box and open up the back cover of my Senior yearbook. I don’t want to look at pictures of my old classmates - I’m friends with all of them on social media and can see pictures of them whenever I feel like it. I don’t want to see pictures of them from Senior year of high school. No one actually looks good in high school, and to make matters worse, it was the early 2000s.
Instead, I go straight for all the messages my classmates wrote to me, and seek out the message from the girlfriend I had Senior year.
I don’t have to look far. I know exactly where that loopy pink handwriting is - right in the top corner of the back cover.
Drew, don’t ever change! You’re a truly special guy, and I hope you have fun in college. I hope we can still be friends!
She didn’t even sign it. She didn’t have to.
It’s strange, in a way. I had so many girlfriends in high school and college, and so many cheap, disposable one night stands before settling down with Clarissa. It’s like Amanda represented all of them, the way she kept her message anonymous. Or maybe she didn’t sign it because she thought I’d never forget her.
The truth is that this simple message means both things to me, all at once.
When I get back to the kitchen with my box of memories, Richard is still sitting at the table with mom.
“I’m just going to put these things in the car. I’ll be back in a minute. I’m not particularly keen on rushing back to the city. If it’s okay with you, maybe I could stay here tonight.”
“Of course you can, Drew. Maybe we can go into town for a movie.”
“That’d be
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