揌ow do you think King Idiot found your new address, if you don抰 mind me asking? Or is your mail still being forwarded??
揇efinitely not forwarded. He probably asked somebody back home. I抳e told you how gossip flies around Dallas. When the hot guy mechanic got mixed up with a pig and finally got engaged to my friend Shelly last year, nobody would shut up about it for months.?
揊or sure! So why don抰 you tell me more about this big interview you have lined up??
I do exactly that while finishing the coffee and wind up hanging out with Eliza until one in the morning.
Not a terrible way to close out my anti-anniversary.
By the end of the night, I抦 grateful that I feel a lot better than I did a year ago.
Eliza works miracles, and not just with her coffee.
I only hope I抣l be half as blessed when I finally get a chance to nail the job that will finally set me free.
2
Forgotten Lore （Lincoln）
I leave work, still preoccupied with the platinum-blond hellcat from Sweeter Grind.
She had an angel抯 face, an hourglass figure counting down my patience, and the mouth of a demon.
Isn抰 that how it always is?
Normally, it抎 fucking turn me on since I抦 sick in the head, but not when it comes to my rolls.
Nobody fucks with Lincoln Burns?Regis rolls.
Yes, I was desperate. Somewhat manic. Unapologetically unhinged.
But not crazy.
I wouldn抰 have offered her five hundred damned dollars for a cinnamon roll if it wasn抰 life and death.
Right now, those stupid rolls are the only thing keeping Wyatt alive in the grip of his depression. He has just enough strength to fight me off if I try ramming anything healthier down his throat. Not enough strength to run on more than glazed sugar.
When that snapping turtle of a woman couldn抰 part with her God-given roll, I went back inside a few hours later after putting in some time at the office and bought a bear claw. Long after she was out of my sight.
I said a Hail Mary, hoping my best friend might be in a mood to try his sugar fix in a different composition today.
Then I brought it to Wyatt抯 tent in the park a few blocks down, marching past rows of human misery in the same situation.
He wouldn抰 even leave his sleeping bag.
A Regis roll is the only way to get him out of hibernation, and bike chick just had to deny him that to make some pitiful moral point.
When I tried to pull him out, he fought me like an ambushed possum. I wound up with a face full of sticky bear claw for my trouble.
I appreciate his opinion, even if it抯 irrational as hell.
My ma loves the stupid rolls, too. A few times, I抳e wondered if my sweet, unassuming mother would unalive some poor SOB for the pleasure.
Every time I go by Sweeter Grind to make a sugar drop for Wyatt, I pick up one or two for Mom.
Not today.
All because I was robbed by the one girl in the city who wouldn抰 have a grown-up conversation about a simple exchange.
Fuck it. Maybe she抣l forget about it.
Mother is a little less stubborn than Wyatt when it comes to those rolls, but not by much. I have a while to replay the encounter as I take the ferry over to her place on Bainbridge, standing where the wind can slap me in the face and clear my head like it usually does.
A little while later, Ma meets me at the door with a hug and her usual sunny smile.
揕ook who抯 back! Come on in. Did you bring me one of those heavenly cinnamon rolls today??
So much for forgetting.
I heave out a sigh.
揑 tried. There was some sort of cinnamon shortage梠r just the world抯 worst excuse for incompetence梐nd then some donkey in front of me bought the last roll in the entire place. She wouldn抰 let me have it no matter how much money I offered棓
Mom bends over laughing, shaking her curly silvering hair.
揝weetheart, relax! My doctor would thank you for making me wait for my fix. You don抰 owe me a cinnamon roll. Your company is plenty.?
Right.
She pulls the door open and stands aside for me to enter, then shuts the door once I抦 inside.
揑 couldn抰 even get a Regis roll for Wyatt, Ma. I tried feeding him a bear claw and he wouldn抰 even get out of bed.?
She frowns, noticing the slight bruise on my temple.
揙h, my. Is that棓
揘ot his fault. I tried to drag him out of his den when I should know better. He抯 not well,?I remind her.
I always have to when she worries like nobody抯 business. And she抯 doing it now, sizing me up, checking me over with the world抯 sternest mom expression for more battle damage.
揕incoln…the way you take care of that poor man really is admirable, but he抯 not your responsibility. He should抳e seen a professional a long time ago. You deserve more of a life than just working and taking care of that lost soul棓
揟hat lost soul is the whole reason I抦 still alive,?I remind her. 揑抎 be dead without him like I抳e told you a thousand times. So, yeah, he抯 my responsibility. He can still find his way back, dammit, and somebody needs to try. Just because we抮e not blood doesn抰 mean Wyatt isn抰 my brother.?
She presses her lips together, knowing she抣l never convince me otherwise.
揌ave you had dinner yet? I made your favorite tonight.?
揗a, I抦 a grown man,?I say with a frustrated sigh. 揑 don抰 need you to feed me.?
揗y bad for thinking hangry is still your first language.?She smiles. 揑t抯 pot roast and garlic mash, by the way.?
Damn her.
My stomach betrays me, growling like a Bengal tiger.
?fine.?
Whatever. She can still see right through me and must have a psychic read on my blood sugar. Without further protest, I lead the way to the dining room.
She laughs behind me.
揧ou go ahead and sit, Lincoln. I抣l grab everything from the kitchen.?
A few minutes later, there抯 a heaping plate of meat, mashed potatoes, and buttery vegetables in front of me and another plate a third that size across the table in front of my mother.
I barely let her dig in first to save face, listening as she cuts her meat.
揝o, besides the stubborn doll who stole your cinnamon roll, have you met anyone lately??she asks.
Kill me.
The only thing I hate talking about more than Wyatt抯 latest brush with the abyss is my nonexistent dating life.
揘ot doll. Donkey. Big difference,?I say, stuffing food into my mouth.
揑 could tell she was pretty, though, from the way you said it.?
揝he looked fine. Just a normal girl,?I lie, watching as she waits impatiently for more. 揚ersonality wise, I抎 rank her somewhere between roadkill and an ER trip for killer bees.?
She laughs so hard she almost spits water. At least someone appreciates my humor.
揧ou should抳e asked her out! It would抳e been interesting, Lincoln. You抮e not getting any younger.?
揘either are you,?I toss back.
揑 have a family. You抮e single.?
揧ou are, too. Technically.?
揑抦 widowed, son.?
揧eah, sorry. Poor choice of words. That抯 not the point, though.?I scratch the plate as I hastily carve another piece of meat. 揧ou抎 still be eating dinner alone tonight if your son hadn抰 shown up.?
She beams at me like the sun.
揙h, I抳e already had the love of my life and a smartass son. I just want the same for you, and anytime I don抰 want to be alone, all I have to do is put a pot roast on.?
I take a big bite, enjoying how it practically melts in my mouth.
She may annoy me, but she抯 not wrong. If she doesn抰 pack up leftovers on my way out, I抣l come back tomorrow.