Reckless(63)

“I swear they call me every other day. They’re so excited about this child.” She laughs and rubs her belly that undulates under her floral muumuu. “Oh! The baby is moving. Feel it.” Grabbing my hand, she places it on her tummy, and I smile even though I’m still bummed out about our parents.

Sure, at the beginning of the summer, I was reluctant to talk to them because I was afraid I’d get the usual lecture about not screwing up a new job, but when they never called, I can’t deny I was disappointed.

Deep down, I get this is all residual psychological bullshit from my childhood. My parents took Kat—not me—and left South Texas for months at a time while they did their best to get whatever migrant farm jobs they could. It may be irrational, but every now and again I feel like the kid they forgot about. Granted, they eventually found permanent jobs in Corpus, and we were able to settle down, but that doesn’t erase those early memories.

When Mila cries on my shoulder at night, telling me she misses her mom, I get it. I so get it.

“They never call me,” I tell my sister, feeling like an ass for bringing it up. I’m so bad at adulting. Sometimes life is like riding a bike with two shaky wheels that eventually fall off. It’s only a matter of when. Because if the past is any indication, my wheels always fall off.

“Seriously?” She frowns.

“Nope. Not since I moved to the ranch.”

“That’s weird. Are you sure?”

“Why would I lie?” I bite my nail, feeling like a petulant kid for not letting this go. “I think they’re still mad.”

“They’re not still mad.” She tilts her head like she’s reconsidering it. “Well, they can’t be that mad.”

I give her a look, the one that says, Come on. “It’s bad enough that they were so embarrassed by me growing up that they told everyone I had gotten a scholarship to St. Mary’s when we all know I could never swing those kind of grades.”

“You didn’t get a scholarship?” Her look of confusion is almost funny.

“You know I sucked at school. Do you really think I had the scores for a scholarship? It was need-based. Not for smarts. You got all those genes, brainiac.”

She scoffs, insisting I’m smart, but she has to say that. She’s a consoler. She wants to make me feel better. I finish biting my thumbnail.

When she’s done insisting I’m not a tontita, a stupid girl, I continue. “When I failed out of UT, Dad was livid, reminding me of all the sacrifices they made for me. How I was ungrateful. How all I did was get in trouble. How they should’ve sent you the little bit of money they had and not me.”

She gasps and covers her mouth. “They did not say that!”

“Swear to God they did. Ask them.”

“Oh, Tor.” Big tears well in her eyes. No, don’t cry. “They were just mad. I know they love you so much, and you mean the world to me.”

Those tears hurdle over her lids and careen down her cheeks, and I sniffle, feeling like I want to sob right along with her.

“Love you too, Kitty Kat.”

We hug, and she pats my head like she did when we were young and she’d pretend I was her life-sized doll.

“If it makes you feel any better, Tori, I’m proud of you. So proud of you. Of the way you regrouped after that jerk broke your heart last year. For the way you’ve worked your butt off on the ranch this summer. Babysitting kids is hard work, and not only do you do a great job taking care of them, those children adore you. And with the divorce, that’s even more important.”

Her baby kicks us both, and we jerk apart, laughing.

“I think that’s my hint that I should get going before we start crying again.” I motion toward the door. “But you’re going to let me plan your baby shower, right?” It’s getting late in the game, but my family is strangely superstitious and doesn’t want to jinx anything. I’m sure my mother has nearly burned down the church lighting candles for this child.

Kat fidgets, tugging on her top. “Um…”

“What do you mean, um? Didn’t I do a great job with your bachelorette party?” I rocked that shit like a badass.

She rolls her eyes. “I think my in-laws are still traumatized by those presents.”

Scoffing, I get up. “Pfft. You know that was an honest mistake. Anyway, who will ever forget that Christmas? Just think of all those special holiday memories!” It really was a mistake. Totally not my fault.

“Tor, I don’t think Nipple Nibblers sex cream screams ‘special holiday memories’.”

“You can use that as a lipgloss. Says right there on the package.” I give her my sweetest smile. “But you’re going to let me plan the baby shower, right?”





36





Ethan





A lone sliver of light cuts through the darkness at the bottom of the closet door. I’m so tired, I might fall asleep if the kids don’t find me soon, but I will my eyes to stay open.

“Ready or not, here we come!” my daughter belts from the other room.

Little feet go pounding down the hall, this way, then that, before Mila confers with her brother, who yells, “Daa-dee! We find Daa-dee!”

I smile. My kids are so stinkin’ cute.