Misfits Like Us (Like Us #11)(24)

“Alright, Moondragon, what do you think?” I hop off the stool and spin in front of the fish tank. My goldfish swims away from the glass towards purple coral.

“You’re right, I need earrings.” I pluck some flying saucers from a bowl of loose jewelry. I’m not the most organized, but I don’t lose much very often.

“Orion.” I let out an off-pitch whistle. He perks up. “You ready for pizza night?”

He jumps off the globe chair, excitedly wags his tail, and circles around my legs. I flash the Vulcan salute to Moondragon. “I’ll be back later, MD.”

I’m not ready to tell people about my goldfish. My mom always said she could never keep a pet fish alive, and so I wanted to try. But a part of me knows I could be just like her in this instance. However, I am determined to not be a fish killer.

All goldfish will survive under my care.

Well, Moondragon at least.

“Roommate night is not just about pizza,” I admit to Moondragon and Orion, crouching down to hug Orion’s soft brown fur.

Usually these roomie events extend to the bodyguards that live three-floors below us. So I think he should be here.

To my pets, I announce, “I’ve figured out who I’m going to ask on a date—the triple date.” My Newfie licks my cheek, and I smile, nuzzling against him while scratching behind his ears. “You would approve of my choice, Orion. You already love Donnelly.” Nerves swarm my belly at saying his name aloud…and then at a vivid and cheek-roasting memory. “You remember when I asked Donnelly if he wanted to go to Wawa with me and he blew me off? I do.” I wince a little. “He thought I was asking him on a date. I wasn’t…I really wasn’t,” I tell Orion, his tail wagging excitedly. “I just thought it’d be nice to visit Wawa for the first time with him.”

It’s why I’ve never gone.

I guess I was waiting for Donnelly.

We cleared up the miscommunication, like it never happened, but I still haven’t ventured to Wawa yet. Am I still waiting…?

“Clearly he doesn’t want to date me,” I say under my breath. “Which is super fine. I like hookups. Sex has been fun lately, and I don’t want to be anyone’s girlfriend. It’s for the best for both of us. My dad would…he could destroy his future, and I want him…I want him to have the strongest, most endless future. One with…”

One with me.

“Happiness,” I nod to Orion, who tries to circle around me again. I watch my hyper puppy and try to smile. “You think he’ll reject me again?”

It hurt the first time, even if I didn’t intend to ask him on a date.

Now, I am.

“I’ll pose it as a friendship thing,” I declare. “He’ll know exactly where I stand up front.” I can’t see Donnelly saying no to a friendship outing, but my history with the Wawa invite doesn’t bode well for me.

Still, I don’t know who else I would choose for the triple date.

He’s my first choice.

“Papa!” I hear a fierce baby wail from my nephew, and I rush out of my bedroom. “Pah-pah!”

Orion chases after my heels. Is Farrow hurt? He’s Papa to Ripley—at least, he has been for a while now. Probably because Farrow used to say papa the most, and Moffy said dad when talking about each other. Ripley must’ve associated papa with Farrow and dad with Moffy, and now it’s stuck. My brother and brother-in-law can’t change that, and I think they’re both perfectly happy that their son chose their fatherly titles in the end.

Closing in on the kitchen, I skid to a stop. Ripley sobs in his high-chair, flour dusting his baby cheeks. It looks like he dropped a ball of dough but it’s already back on his tray. Half the kitchen counter is caked with flour and dough, and Farrow is trying to sweep broken glass from the floor, along with thorny flower stems and pink roses.

A vase must’ve fallen.

Farrow dumps glass into the trash bin.

“Rip,” Moffy tries to soothe. “You’re okay. Your papa is okay.”

Ripley cries at the flour on his hands. Kids will cry at anything and nothing at all.

“You know what this is, right?” Moffy asks in his usual tough but warm tone. “What is it called?” He touches the powdery substance on the tray.

“Fower,” he cries and hiccups.

“Yep, it’s just flour.”

“Flour can’t hurt you, little man,” Farrow tells their son. “Look, your dad has the same affliction.”

Moffy rotates to his husband, just as Farrow blows flour off his palm and at Moffy’s face. White powder coats his hair and an unamused expression.

I laugh, and Ripley hears, head swinging back to me. Our smiles match before he giggles loudly.

“Thank you for that affliction,” Maximoff tells Farrow flatly, but the love my brother wields for Farrow is so clear within his green eyes, even in his sarcasm.

Farrow is smiling wide. “Anytime, wolf scout.” He thumbs the flour on Moffy’s jaw. “You have a little something.”

“So do you.” He presses his hand in the flour on the counter, and Farrow lets him smear the flour down his black V-neck.

Ripley plays in the flour instead of fearing it, and they’re laughing.

This is why I don’t want to leave. Two of my favorite people and my nephew—I’d miss this happy moment. Though, I know I’m just a witness, not a participant. Not yet anyway.