He'd abandoned me on the highway for hours. Left me stranded without a second thought. And now he had the nerve to text me like I was the one being difficult?
Before I could even respond, another message came through.
"I don't care where you are. You have one hour to get to my house. The elders are all waiting. Don't be rude."
My blood boiled.
One hour? Who did he think he was giving orders to?
And "the elders are waiting"? As if his family were some kind of royalty I should be honored to visit.
Then he sent a photo.
A group of men crowded around a table, cigarettes pinched between every set of fingers, the air so thick with smoke the image looked hazy. The table was littered with picked-over plates and empty bottles, and the floor around them was scattered with trash.
This was what he meant by "waiting for me"?
This was his idea of waiting?
I snapped a photo of our New Year's Eve dinner and sent it to him. "Sorry, I'm spending the holiday with my family. I don't have the privilege of eating your leftovers, so you'll have to finish them yourselves. Oh, and one more thing—I'd suggest you return my car before this blows up into something none of you can handle."
The chat showed he was typing...