wedding photo. Seven shook his head and stared at the photo as she mentioned “and that’s my brother Joseph,” just as he shook his head at each of the other unfamiliar faces she named. The undiscussed rule of not mentioning that Seven’s father was a mentally ill serial killer was also adhered to.
After several hours reviewing the Taylor family history, Seven settled down in the guest room as Tiffany retired to her childhood bedroom, complete with the hanging posters and the décor of a middle-class teenage girl on her way to college. Seven slept well on the queen-size mattress in the guest room. He and Tiffany exchanged good-night text messages. The words “I love you” were authored by each sender.
Seven forgot that he was not in Thomasville the following morning when he awoke to the smell of bacon frying in the kitchen. He half expected to hear Gran calling him down for breakfast. There was nothing not normal, respectable, or southern about the home and family of David and Janice Taylor. There was no question why Tiffany had grown into the beautiful, caring, intelligent, well-adjusted creature that she was. It would be an anomaly had she not. The Taylor family was perfect, the Taylor family was comfortable, the Taylor family was home.
The morning ended with a hearty breakfast, new photos to add to the album, and familial type hugs from both of Tiffany’s parents. They stood in the driveway of their middle-class home and waved until Tiffany’s car was well out of sight. Tiffany pulled the car to the side of the road and leaned over without warning and kissed Seven. She placed both hands on his cheeks and kissed him deeply and passionately. As she completed the act she drew her head back, looked into his eyes, and said, “Thank you.” Seven replied with his own “thank you” and Tiffany returned to her driving duties. “Now let me tell you about Uncle Joe,” she said.