Reckless(70)

A part of me is disappointed they’re not here for me, but I nod. I get it. They adore my sister. Hell, I adore my sister. She’s why I considered working for Ethan in the first place. It makes sense my parents would want to check on Kat since she’s so pregnant.

My mom digs into her purse. I sit back, knowing it could take a while before she ever finds what she’s looking for in there. Toothpicks, antacids, a sewing kit, an extra shoe lace, mints. All shit she lines up on the table in her search at the bottom of the faux leather bag.

Then she waves her tiny red flip phone. “Mira. Aquí.” Look. Here. With the speed of a turtle, she opens it, turns it on, and waits for the device to light up. Finally, she holds it to my face. Like, right to my face so I have to lean back to actually read the screen.

I see my name and my number.

I blink a few times.

Huh.

“Um. Mom. That’s my old number.”

She makes a face. It’s the See, I’m right. As usual face.

“What? I told you I changed it last spring.” She lifts an eyebrow that warns me I’m going to hell if I lie to my santa madre. “I left you guys a message. Swear to God.”

“Don’t swear.” She crosses herself, likely making a mental note to say a rosary for her heathen daughter this Sunday at church.

My sister snickers across the table, and we all turn to her.

“Aww, you guys! I’m just so happy we’re together. We should do this more often. I love having you in one place.” Tears well in her eyes. Oh, Jesus. No.

I sigh, feeling too wrung out to get emotional right now. Ethan’s court date is the day after tomorrow, and I’m on pins and needles for him. I can’t get all worked up in my family’s version of a telenovela.

Needing to switch gears, I blurt out an apology. “You’re right, Mom. I’m sorry I said you didn’t call. You obviously did.”

All three heads swivel around, their eyes wide as they stare at me like I’m a monkey in a zoo exhibit, scratching its ass, about to throw a turd.

I shrug, wanting this weird moment over so we can get back to talking about how my cousins are spoiled or my aunts are gossips or whatever. Anything but this. “You’re right. I could’ve called you guys too. I probably should have.” I’m a brat. I know this. But I’m the baby of the family, and sometimes I need love too, damn it. “So yeah. Sorry.”

After a long minute, my mom blinks a satisfied smile, and my dad leans over to hug me. “You look good, chiquita.”

Smiling at my childhood nickname, Little One, I hug him back. “You too, Pops.” I pat his round stomach. “Enjoying Mom’s cooking, I see.”

He chuckles. “How’s the farm? Your sister tells me you’re working for a nice family.”

My eyes catch Kat’s and I tilt my head, wondering at my father’s meaning of the word ‘family.’ Does he think I’m working for a married couple or does he know it’s a single dad? I figured my sister would’ve told him all the details.

“It’s a great family.” I sound like the freaking Frosted Flakes tiger, but why spill the beans now if they’re under the wrong assumption?

Is this why Kat picked me up this morning and told our parents we’d meet them at the diner? She wanted to avoid them meeting Ethan? Avoid them seeing my living situation?

“?Y la esposa?” My mother sips her coffee, her expression not giving me a hint of what she wants to know.

Is the wife… what?

I look to Kat for a clue here, but she’s too busy gorging on the omelet the waitress set down in front of her to notice my distress.

Come on, Kat!

She’s chowing down, making these hungry sounds like she’s starving to death.

Meanwhile, my stomach gurgles, from acid reflux or some kind of ulcer, and I press a sweaty palm to my belly.

Fuck it. Might as well rip off the Band-Aid.

I glance between my parents. “You know they’re divorced, right? That I work for a single dad and his brother?”

Based on the shock on my dad’s face and the horror on my mother’s, they did not know.

Folding my hands in front of me, I wait for the apocalypse to rain down on my head. It’s a position I’m used to in my family. Because this is what I do. I screw up.

Kat finally pauses in her race to fend off starvation and waves a fork at us.

“Ethan is awesome. I told you guys,” she says around a mouth full of food. “He’s good friends with Brady, and he pays his taxes, and he’s an awesome dad.”

That’s your argument? That he pays his taxes?

Where has my sister gone? The one who could argue the devil out of his due?

The bell over the front door jingles, and goosebumps break out on my arms. It’s the most insane thing ever that as I look up, I already know Ethan is here. He’s strolling up with his daughter.

My first reaction is the one I always have when I see him. Elation. The same feeling I got as a kid when I’d daydream one day my parents would win the Lotto and buy me a pony.

When our eyes connect and his lips tilt up, I swear I hear that old time-y song my parents love by Frank Sinatra about flying to the moon.

Or maybe it’s playing on the overhead speakers. Whatever. The important thing is Ethan Carter is mine, and booyeah, baby, I’m fucking psyched!