“Go ahead,” I say to my girlfriend and her mom. “I’ll help you in, Mr. Shariff.” “Don’t need help,” Mr. Shariff grumbles while grabbing my arm and using my body like a crutch. I was right, he’s tall, and grumpy—though that seems to be a trait he’s reserved for me. “Where do you wanna go? Kitchen table or the couch?” He doesn’t speak at first, just eyes me skeptically. “Or I can dump you right back outside and let you start over.” His hand grips me tighter and I think he’s angry at first, before I realize he’s… laughing. He’s laughing so hard he’s about to fall over, so I wrap my arm around his
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