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Too Pretty to be a Boy -8- by Lajien
🕑 Added 2025-05-07 16:45:01 +0000 UTC“Ms. Davis, please call your dad again; this is all a misunderstanding,” Sam requested, his voice now tinged with a desperate urgency that belied his earlier arrogance. The shock of being fired was wearing off, replaced by a dawning realization of the consequences. He actually thinks I have the power to undo Dad’s decision? He has no idea how Dad operates.
I narrowed my eyes, looking at him, a flicker of annoyance rising within me. Did he actually just demand something of me after the way he treated Mom? “Sorry, but no, I don’t want to. Mom planned this evening some time ago, and you nearly ruined it,” I explained plainly, my tone leaving no room for argument. I didn’t want anyone to lose their job because of me, but his behavior had been inexcusable, and sympathy was the last thing I felt.
Mom stepped forward, her gaze unwavering. “I think Harry has been clear enough. If he fires you, then you must have messed up really bad,” she explained with a firm tone that brooked no debate. I could see a steely glint in her eyes, and I had no doubt she was intimidating the man just as much as Dad’s words had. She might act all sweet and understanding, but mess with her kids, and she turns into a mama bear.
I could see Johnny walking over from the side, his expression a mixture of concern and protective anger. “There you are,” Johnny said as he approached Sam, his voice low and carrying a hint of menace. He placed his hand on the man’s shoulder, the grip tightening almost imperceptibly, making Sam squirm uncomfortably as he tried to subtly shrug it off. Johnny’s trying to keep his cool, but I can see the tension in his jaw.
“See this lady over here? She’s my mom, and she was embarrassed in front of a crowd because of a misunderstanding you caused. So, I am going to need you to apologize, or I can call Dad and explain everything,” Johnny threatened, his grip now visibly tightening, causing Sam to wince. Around us, I noticed a few heads turning, hushed whispers rippling through the nearby tables as the tension escalated.
A grown-up man shouldn't be having trouble with an 18-year-old teen, but Johnny wasn’t a normal 18-year-old. From a young age, Mom and Dad had to teach him self-control because he might accidentally hurt someone due to his unusual strength, a genetic trait that made his muscles twice as dense as those of his peers. Dicky, Peter, and I had the same thing, but Johnny’s physical strength was on a different level entirely.
“I already called Dad when he tried to kick us out,” I explained, watching Johnny’s reaction closely. For a fleeting second, a dangerous glint that I recognized as pure, unadulterated rage flashed in Johnny’s eyes. Oh boy, here we go. More patrons were now openly staring, their conversations dying down as the scene became impossible to ignore. A few even subtly pointed fingers, their expressions a mix of shock and morbid curiosity.
“Say that again. He did what?” Johnny growled, his grip on Sam’s shoulder intensifying to the point where the man’s face contorted in pain, and he started to whimper, his knees buckling. The air crackled with Johnny’s barely contained fury. The eyes of the entire dining room seemed to be on our small group now, the clinking of silverware and polite murmurs replaced by an almost complete silence.
“Please, Mr. Davis, this is all a misunderstanding,” Sam argued, his voice strained and pleading, but clearly, Johnny was beyond reason at this point. The disrespect towards Mom was a trigger he had never truly overcome.
Mom stepped forward, her hand reaching out to gently touch Johnny’s arm. “Johnny, honey, just let him go. Even if he apologizes, I will not accept it, and your dad has already fired him,” she explained, leaving her seat and walking over to stand beside her son, her gaze softening as she looked at him.
She’s worried about Johnny losing control, but I know she’s still furious with this guy. I could tell she couldn't care less about Sam; her focus was entirely on Johnny.
“Only for you, Mom,” Johnny nodded, his grip on Sam’s shoulder finally releasing. The man immediately clutched his injured shoulder, moaning softly in pain.
Johnny’s voice was cold and final, leaving no room for argument. “Get out of here. You’re not welcome in any of our restaurants. As the regional director, I am banning you from entering, and if you do, you will be trespassing, and the police will get involved.” He released Sam entirely and, with a deep breath, turned and calmly walked back to our table, sitting down as if the intense confrontation had been nothing more than a minor inconvenience.
Sam opened his mouth as if to protest, but Johnny’s icy stare, unwavering and full of threat, made him nod mutely. He silently stood up, favoring his injured shoulder, and walked away without uttering another word, his tail between his legs. The other diners slowly began to resume their conversations, though a palpable undercurrent of what had just transpired still hung in the air.
Mom placed a hand on Johnny’s cheek, her expression softening with pride. “I am very proud of you, Johnny,” she said sincerely, her eyes filled with affection.
That’s when I remembered the source of all this drama, the parasite who had been sitting at our table, Chrystal. She immediately sneered, looking at Mom with undisguised disdain. “You’re not his mom,” Chrystal said with a mocking tone, her jealousy and bitterness bubbling to the surface.
Mom looked at her, shocked, momentarily speechless at the sheer audacity of the statement. Did she really just say that? “Listen here, young lady…” Mom began, her voice rising with indignation, but Johnny gently placed a hand on her arm, stopping her.
“It’s okay, Mom. I got this,” Johnny assured Mom, his gaze hardening as he turned his attention to Chrystal. The earlier protective anger now shifted to a cold, cutting disappointment.
“I have tried to be good to you. You and I don’t come from very different worlds; we both have rich parents. But before you make fun of my mom, know that she’s part of the reason you and I are different. I learned to be a responsible person from a very young age, while you will always be a spoiled brat. We’re finished, Chrystal. Get out of here.” His eyes were filled with disgust and a profound sense of disillusionment, something I hadn’t seen directed at her before.
“You’re joking, right?” Chrystal asked in disbelief, her face paling as the reality of Johnny’s words began to sink in. She couldn’t seem to comprehend that he was actually breaking up with her.
“I am not. I know you cheated on me, but I really wanted to give you a chance. I am done. I want you to leave. You can have the apartment tonight until morning, but I want you gone with all your belongings first thing in the morning.” It was clear he was dead serious; everyone at the table could see it in his eyes, everyone but her, it seemed.
She looked around the table, her eyes pleading for support, but found none.
Even Angela, the real angel and the kindest girl in the world, wasn’t going to try to defend her after the way she had spoken to me and Abby. Angela absolutely adored Abby, more like a best friend, someone she could talk to about anything, and Chrystal had insulted her.
Seeing how utterly alone and disadvantaged the situation was, Chrystal snatched her purse from the table, her face a mask of fury, and angrily stomped away, her heels clicking sharply on the restaurant floor.
“Too much drama for one night,” I said with a sigh, the tension finally starting to dissipate, leaving me feeling emotionally drained. Seriously though, why couldn’t one day go by without some kind of explosion?
“Sorry about this,” Johnny said, turning to me with a weary expression before pulling me into a comforting hug. “At least you were right; Chrystal was never good for me,” he explained, his voice softer now, before planting a gentle kiss on my cheek, making me blush despite the chaotic events of the evening.
I often wondered how my brother, who was a hulk in both body and sometimes in his impulsive behavior, could be so incredibly gentle and protective only with me. It always made me feel special, knowing that I had a brother like him, someone who could be both a force of nature and a source of such tenderness.
“Drinks are on the house,” Johnny announced, waving to a passing waiter to come over to our table. “Take the ladies' orders; drinks are on the house.” His way of trying to smooth things over.
“Yes, sir,” the waiter replied politely, nodding respectfully before taking our drink orders.
We eventually walked out of the restaurant, feeling stuffed from the unexpectedly eventful dinner. The immediate drama had momentarily pushed the looming CPS visit to the back of my mind, but the underlying anxiety still lingered. Until that’s over, I won’t be able to truly relax.
“Mom, can I crash at your house tonight?” Johnny asked awkwardly, a hint of vulnerability in his voice now that the adrenaline of the confrontation had faded.
Mom looked at him with narrowed eyes, a mixture of concern and affection in her gaze. “What do you mean? Johnny, it’s your house. You can come by anytime you want; you can even move in if you want. I would be more than happy,” she said, reaching out to hold his hand, her grip firm and reassuring.
“Thanks, Mom. I will be right behind you,” Johnny explained, giving her a grateful look before turning to me and pulling me into another hug, this one tighter and more heartfelt. “Thank you for trying to help me all this time and never giving up on me.”
I smiled at Johnny and returned the hug, squeezing him tightly. “You never did; we’ll never give up on each other, except maybe when it comes to dealing with those two baboons back in New York,” I joked, trying to lighten the mood, making Johnny chuckle softly. Dicky and Pete were a handful even for Johnny’s considerable strength and patience.
The four of us got into Mom’s car, and Mom started the engine. Johnny followed right behind us on his motorcycle, the rumble of its engine a familiar sound. In the car, I let out a sigh of relief. The evening had been a rollercoaster, but ultimately, it felt like things had moved in the right direction despite all the drama.
“By the way,” Angela started, her expression suddenly brightening with excitement, “Dad asked me to remind you that tomorrow is Saturday, and as always, we will be going for a ride on our mountain bikes.”
I let out a groan, the reminder hitting me like a physical blow. I had completely forgotten about our usual Saturday bike ride. As a stupid joke, Dicky had decided to send my expensive mountain bike to a scrap yard, and with everything else going on, I hadn’t had the time or energy to get a new one.
“Honey, what’s wrong? You’ve always loved riding your mountain bike with them,” Mom asked, her voice laced with concern as she glanced at me in the rearview mirror.
“Dicky sold mine for scrap. He’s supposed to get me a new one, but you know how Dicky is,” I explained with a frustrated sigh, and Mom shook her head in exasperated understanding.
I turned around in my seat to face Angela. “Sorry, you will have to go without me tomorrow,” I said apologetically, a wave of disappointment washing over me. That’s when I saw Abby in the front seat, furiously typing away on her phone, her brow furrowed in concentration. “Abby, what are you doing?”
“Interrogating Dicky about why your bike isn’t here yet,” she explained, her thumbs flying across the screen. “Just reminding him how I used to put him over my lap and spank him when he misbehaved.” A small, vengeful smile played on her lips.
Of course, the twins were absolutely terrified of Abby. I think they had developed some kind of deep-seated childhood trauma because of her firm, if occasionally over-the-top, methods of discipline. “Thanks, but it’s not like he can get me one by tomorrow morning,” I said with a grateful but ultimately sad smile.
“Doesn’t matter. It seems Johnny’s methods weren’t good enough, so now they must deal with me,” she explained, her eyes still glued to her phone, a determined glint in them. Somehow, despite my own frustration, I felt a sliver of pity for the twins. Dealing with an angry Abby was not something anyone would willingly sign up for. I didn’t even know how she managed to get Dicky’s direct number.
Arriving home, we all got out of the car. I glanced at my phone and saw that it was only 7 PM. “Mom, can I go see Uncle Ian?” I asked, the need for his comforting presence suddenly overwhelming. Mom just nodded with a warm smile, understanding without needing an explanation. I followed Angela and Abby as they headed towards their house next door.
As soon as we stepped into Angela’s house, the familiar scent of strong coffee and the distant, muted roar of a sports channel on TV greeted me. I already knew exactly who I would find inside.
Uncle Ian. His presence was a comforting anchor in the midst of all the recent turmoil.
Angela shot me a knowing look, a slight smirk playing on her lips. “You ready for this?”
I exhaled, a nervous flutter in my stomach. “Guess I have to be.” There was no avoiding the inevitable conversation.
We walked toward the living room, and before I even stepped fully into the doorway, Uncle Ian’s deep, booming voice rang out, filled with a mixture of gruffness and underlying affection.
“Well, look who finally decided to show up,” he said, setting his heavy coffee mug down on the coaster with a decisive clink. He stood up from his recliner, crossing his arms over his broad chest, his sharp, intelligent eyes locking onto mine. His expression wasn’t angry, just… slightly disappointed, which somehow felt worse.
I shifted on my feet, suddenly feeling like a scolded child. “Hey, Uncle Ian.” The greeting felt inadequate.
He studied me for a long moment, his gaze intense, before a small chuckle rumbled in his chest, softening his features. “C'mere, kid.” His arms opened slightly, an unspoken invitation.
I barely had time to react before he pulled me into a firm, comforting hug, his large hand patting my back reassuringly.
“You didn’t wait for me to get home,” he murmured into my hair, his voice a low rumble. “Did you really think I wouldn’t notice?” There was a hint of hurt in his tone.
I sighed, leaning into the hug. “I wasn’t avoiding you… I just had a lot going on.” The words felt like a weak excuse.
Angela smirked from the doorway, leaning against the frame. “Dad’s been sulking all day.”
“I do not sulk,” Uncle Ian argued, but the corners of his mouth twitched, betraying his amusement.
Abby grinned, stepping further into the room. “You totally do. You were moping around like a lost puppy.”
I laughed, the tension in my shoulders finally easing a little at the familiar family banter. “I’m sorry, Uncle Ian. I should’ve come by sooner.”
He gave me a pointed look, his eyes still holding a hint of playful reproach, then reached out to ruffle my hair affectionately. “You’re lucky you’re my goddaughter, or I’d make you run ten laps around the block for making me wait.”
I snorted, a genuine smile finally breaking through my worry. “Noted.”
Angela’s expression brightened, her mind already jumping to another topic. “Oh, speaking of running—Dad, Carla needs a new mountain bike.”
Uncle Ian raised a questioning eyebrow. “What happened to your old one?”
I crossed my arms, a wave of annoyance washing over me at the memory of Dicky’s idiotic prank. “Dicky happened.”
Abby, who had been furiously texting in the car, held up her phone triumphantly. “And Dicky just ran out of excuses. He claims he ordered you a new one, but I told him if it’s not in your hands by tomorrow, he’s dead.” Her tone was light, but the underlying threat was clear.
Uncle Ian smirked, a familiar glint of mischief in his eyes. “Well, I’m not waiting on Dicky’s incompetence. Let’s go get you a new bike.”
I blinked, surprised by the suddenness of the offer. “Right now?”
Angela grinned, already heading towards the door. “Yup! And we’re getting you proper riding gear, too. No more of those old sneakers.”
I hesitated, a wave of guilt washing over me. “Uncle Ian, I—”
He gave me a look that brooked no argument, a silent command. “Carla.”
I sighed, knowing it was futile to protest. “Okay, okay.” The prospect of a new bike was undeniably appealing.
We piled into Uncle Ian’s truck and drove to a mountain bike specialty store, the kind that had an entire section dedicated to outdoor adventures and serious cycling enthusiasts. The moment we walked in, Uncle Ian headed straight for the high-end bikes, his eyes scanning the selection with expert knowledge, while Abby and Angela made a beeline for the brightly colored clothing section.
“Alright, Carla,” Uncle Ian said, his voice firm but kind as we moved through the impressive rows of bikes. “You need something built for real trails—light, durable, and no gimmicky nonsense that will fall apart the first time you hit a root.”
I scanned the overwhelming options, feeling slightly lost, but Uncle Ian had already zeroed in on one particular model. He pulled it out and set it in front of me, the sleek lines and vibrant color immediately catching my eye.
“What do you think about this one?”
The first thing I noticed was the color—a striking neon green that was both bold and eye-catching. The frame was crafted from lightweight aluminum with a sophisticated full suspension system, promising a smooth ride even on the roughest terrain. The thick, knobby tires looked like they could grip anything, and the hydraulic disc brakes hinted at the kind of control I had only dreamed of.
I ran a hand over the cool metal of the frame, a feeling of excitement bubbling up ...inside me. “This is… amazing.”
Uncle Ian nodded, a satisfied look on his face. “Top-tier model. Perfect balance, excellent shock absorption. This one’s yours.” His words were casual, as if buying a high-end mountain bike was an everyday occurrence.
I stared at him, a wave of disbelief washing over me. “Wait, really?”
He smirked, a familiar glint of generosity in his eyes. “Did you think I was gonna let my goddaughter ride some flimsy bike?”
I grinned, my heart swelling with gratitude, but before I could properly thank him, Abby’s voice rang out from the other side of the store, near a colorful display of athletic wear.
“Carla, get over here! We found you some great riding gear.” Her tone brooked no argument.
I turned toward Uncle Ian, a playful apprehension in my expression. “Should I be scared?”
He chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound. “Probably.”
I walked over to the clothing section and immediately regretted asking. Angela and Abby had already filled a shopping cart to overflowing with various items of cycling attire.
Angela held up a fitted cycling jersey in a vibrant mix of purple and white, the material looking sleek and technical. “Proper gear,” she declared authoritatively. “You’re not wearing baggy T-shirts anymore. Aerodynamics, darling!”
Abby smirked, holding up a pair of matching cycling shorts that looked suspiciously padded. “And these have extra padding, so your butt doesn’t hate you after an hour of riding. Trust us on this one.”
I groaned, feeling slightly overwhelmed by their enthusiasm. “Do I really need all this?”
Angela rolled her eyes dramatically. “Yes. Trust me. You’ll thank us when you’re not chafing and feeling every bump in the trail.”
They also threw in moisture-wicking socks in various bright colors, a pair of sturdy-looking cycling gloves with reinforced palms, and a set of specialized cycling shoes designed to clip into the pedals for better power transfer.
I crossed my arms, a hint of defiance in my voice. “At least no pink, right?”
Angela giggled, exchanging a conspiratorial glance with Abby. “Fine, but you’re still getting cute stuff. Practical and stylish.”
By the time we made our way to the checkout counter, Uncle Ian was carrying the sleek new bike and a matching helmet, while Angela and Abby struggled to maneuver the overflowing cart of cycling gear.
“Got everything?” Uncle Ian asked, pulling out his wallet without a second thought.
I hesitated, a pang of guilt hitting me. “Uncle Ian, this is too much—"
He shot me a look that immediately silenced my protest, a silent reminder of his unwavering generosity. “Carla.”
I sighed, giving up the argument. “Okay, okay. Thank you.” The words felt inadequate to express my gratitude.
He reached out and ruffled my hair affectionately, a warm smile on his face. “That’s better.”
As we walked back to his truck, the new bike gleaming on the carrier in the back, I couldn’t help but smile. Despite all the recent turmoil and the lingering anxiety about the CPS visit, moments like this reminded me that I wasn’t alone; I had a family that truly cared.
It took a few moments for Abby and Angela to Tetris the mountain of cycling gear into the trunk. Then, Uncle Ian carefully strapped my brand-new bike onto the carrier. Abby hopped into the front seat, and Angela and I settled into the back.
“Carla,” Uncle Ian called over his shoulder as he started the engine, his eyes focused on the road ahead. “I want you to know that just because you’re not a boy anymore doesn’t mean you’re any less a part of this family. You will always be one of my kids, just like Abigail and Angela, and we’re always behind you if you ever need us. Always.” His words were delivered with a sincerity that warmed me from the inside out.
I felt a lump forming in my throat, the wave of acceptance and unconditional love washing over me incredibly comforting. Hearing Uncle Ian say those words out loud made something inside me settle, easing some of the persistent anxiety. I knew he meant it, and that meant more than I could ever express. “Thank you, Uncle Ian,” I replied, my voice a little thick with emotion, but my smile genuine.
“By the way, I like your new look,” Uncle Ian continued, glancing at me in the rearview mirror, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. “You look beautiful, but still modest. Some girls don’t have much respect for themselves, nor do their parents. I’m glad you girls are different.” His unexpected compliment made me blush slightly.
“Thank you, Uncle,” I mumbled, feeling a warmth spread through me. The rest of the ride home was spent with us excitedly discussing the plans for tomorrow’s bike ride: which trails we were going to tackle, potential scenic stops, and Uncle Ian’s surprising confidence that we could handle a more challenging route he usually reserved for his rides with Aunt Carol. I was definitely up for the challenge.
Comments
Lajien
No need to be sorry. Can you DM me and explain more? Please. That would be helpful.
Andrew Payne
i'm sorry but no one, and i mean no one would wear that get up to go mountain biking. The description in the text is nothing like the image either, please can we have a more suitable picture?
Lajien
I would like to thank Erin at the wonderful generated images. They really do bring life to the story.
