Happily Ever After? (Sleeping Handsome Sequel) by Jean Haus Page A

the most
comfortable my father and I have been in a long, long time. Before
my accident and coma we couldn’t stand to be around each other.
After he just looked relived and somewhat guilty. Today gives me
hope we can get back to a normal father and son existence. Even
though my dad’s visit puts me in a better mood, Paige’s email and
missed call still weigh heavily on my mind.
    “ Bro, lighten up. Your
dad’s gone.” Drake tosses a beer at me as I walk into the kitchen.
I catch the can with one hand while holding the plates in the
other. He laughs. “No wonder you were a receiver. Great
hands.”
    I go to the sink and rinse dishes. “No
wonder you stood on the sidelines. You were too busy worrying about
the stickers on your helmet.”
    His friends’ laughter doesn’t faze
him. “That reminds me I need to hang the mistletoe.”
    Ah, I knew there was a
reason behind the Santa hat. At least there is a motive behind his hat madness
for once. I open my beer and talk to Drake’s friends—I suppose
they’re mine too now—while he hangs the mistletoe. More people
arrive with beer and booze. Some people congregate in the kitchen.
Others play video games. I open another beer just as someone turns
up the music.
    I’m having an okay time conversing and
watching Drake try to get a kiss from any female who walks in under
his hanging plastic plant—most give him a peck on the cheek then
skirt around his mostly naked form—until Amanda shows
up.
    Shit. My beer can crunches in my hand.
How did I not see this coming? I should have known Drake would
invite her. Paige is really not going to like this. But I can’t
leave. I’m not driving after downing three beers in a little more
than an hour. I consider going for a long, long walk. A five to six
hour walk does not sound appealing. Out of the corner of my eye, I
watch her give Drake a peck on the cheek. Then her eyes scan the
room until she finds me. I take a sip of beer and nod to whatever
the guy on my left is saying. Could Paige have been right? When I
look up, Drake’s handing Amanda a beer. They lean against the couch
talking.
    Probably not, Paige’s worries are just
making me paranoid.
    I’m nursing my fourth and last beer—I
have school at seven in the morning—when Amanda saunters into the
kitchen. She smiles at me and says hi. Luckily, the interest the
other guys have in her scantily dressed form—her tight dress rides
high on her legs and low across her chest—have them introducing
themselves.
    Continually running her hands through
her dark hair, she talks to them while her constant glances at me
make me nervous. There’s something there in her demeanor, perhaps
the slow, deliberate way she moves, that reminds me of a snake. I’m
going to have to ask permission from Paige and have a talk with
Drake. Just being in the same vicinity as Amanda has me feeling
guilty. So much so, I set my half-full beer down on the counter, go
turn down the music, and head to my room.
    In my small sanctuary, I
turn on the fan in the corner to help cut the noise, grab The Great
Gatsby , and fall onto my bed. After a few
pages, I’m reaching for my laptop. Paige hasn’t sent another
message. Great. I go back to her earlier message and get the
feeling again she purposely avoided me, which pisses me off. Maybe
more so after a few beers. My fingers type with irritation dripping
from their tips.
    Paige,
    If you’re pissed, fine.
Just be honest and tell me that’s your justification for not
calling. Tell me you need some time to cool off. Don’t play mind
games with me and leave me hanging. I know you asked me to be
patient with you, but I would never expect that kind of bullshit
from you.
    Ever.
    So tell me I’m wrong. Call
me a dick for even thinking that.
    Now that I have that out
of my system…
    I have some good news. I
think. My father came over tonight. My mother sent dinner with him.
Her way of forcing us together, which as you know usually doesn’t
work. Yet tonight we