“Yeah, sure. Love you too.” You
hung up your phone and stared at it in disbelief. Your mom hadn’t been that
good at convincing you to do things when you’d lived at home, had she?
Dean walked into the library and
took once glance at you—sitting on the table with your feet in the chair—and
grinned. “Talked to your mom recently?”
“Shut up, Winchester.” Dean always
teased you that you only sat on the table when you talked to your mom just
because you hadn’t been allowed to at home. He was wrong, of course. Your
parents had been artists and were a bit eccentric. You could remember all three
of you making a tent by putting blankets over your table and eating on the
floor. You constantly walked home from school to see your father standing on
top of the table, trying to pin something to the ceiling. No, sitting on a
table was pretty normal for your family.