Finished in the garage, Gerald entered the kitchen. The dishes from dinner had been cleaned and put away earlier by his sister. The table had been cleared off and the countertops were spotless.
Feeling a tad thirsty, Gerald opened up the fridge and looked around. Now that he was twenty-one, he could buy his own alcohol and thanks to his well-paying summer job, which also looked good on his resume, he could afford alcohol he liked. No more Natty Light for me, he thought, recalling all the parties from his freshman year. Especially no more keg beer.
A Heineken in hand, Gerald walked out of the kitchen into the living room. He sat down on the sofa rather than his personal recliner because it was already at the townhouse. He picked up his book from the end table and began to read, occasionally drinking some beer from the green bottle while doing so.
“Ahem,” a voice said. Gerald looked over the book and saw Cheryl standing in front of him.
“Yes?” Gerald said, annoyed at being interrupted.
“Katrina told me,” she said, her hands twisting the hem of her untucked white blouse.
“Told you what?”
“What you told her earlier.”
“And this is important for what reason?”
“I want your opinion on mine.”
“They’re yours,” Gerald said. “Be happy with them.”
“Why should I? You told Kat that hers were the best in the world and I’m larger. She’s a 32B and I’m a 34C.”
“They’re your breasts, Cheryl. Because of that, they’re perfect for you. Just because someone has smaller or larger breasts than you does not mean that they’re better than you.”
“You’re just saying that,” the eighteen-year old blonde sniffed. “You’ve never seen them or touched them.” Gerald sighed, marked his place in the book and put it aside.
“Would you feel better if you showed them to me?” he said. Cheryl shook her head no.
“What would make you feel better, Cheryl?”
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