The Hot Mess and the Heartthrob(65)
“Let’s just call that a yes then.”
“I’d donate a kidney to anyone who needed it. Probably. Maybe.”
Holly pokes her head into the stockroom. Based on the way she’s scrunching her face at me, she clearly overheard that. “We’re low on Hot Mess Moms Club mugs at the coffee bar.”
“Gotta go, Portia. Text me and save me from myself, okay?”
“I’m not one to waste my breath.”
“Please.”
“I could tell you I can’t take the kids tomorrow night.”
I whimper. “Maybe save me next week?”
“I’ll add it to my calendar.”
“Thank you.”
“That’s what friends are for.”
Holly looks me up and down as I hang up the phone. “You’re thinking about keeping the squirrel, aren’t you?”
I almost blurt a fast no, then realize a yes gets me out of questions about what else I might be losing my mind over. Instead, I offer a weak smile. “I need to learn to say no.”
“Don’t we all.”
Twenty-Three
Levi
Life lesson number six hundred thirty-four: Do not let young girls talk you into art projects with glitter.
Especially when their four-year-old brother is nearby.
“C’mon, Hudson. Don’t swallow the water. Just put it in your mouth and shake your cheeks, then spit it out.”
His impish grin in the mirror as he leans over the sink to suck water from the faucet tugs at something deep inside me.
This kid.
He’s a handful. Creative as hell. Fearless. Determined. Boundaries will not keep Hudson Scott from much.
And I get the impression his sisters have the same spark. They channel it differently, but it’s there.
Plus, I haven’t yet seen Piper on skates.
I tap his shoulder. “Rinse. Or your mom won’t let us play anymore.”
I have so much pink sparkle glitter in my hair that I’ll probably die looking like a Vegas show gone wrong. I’ll probably sneeze it out of my sinuses for weeks. And there will be so many questions at Tripp’s house for Thanksgiving dinner on Thursday.
On the bright side, Zoe and Piper have quit freaking out about Ingrid losing her shit when she sees the glitter carpet. It took me calling my own mom and asking her to please share a story about a time I did something dumb and she wanted to kill me, but she didn’t, because she’s my mom and she loves me, and then assuring the girls that their mom will forgive them too.
Yep.
There’ll be questions at Thanksgiving dinner.
It’s leverage, I swear. I’ll tell if she will. She’s completely clammed up about her boyfriend, and even my normal spies won’t give me anything.
Also, I’m not convinced Ingrid won’t be the one to kill me. And I have a feeling that offering to replace the carpet in her apartment isn’t something she’d appreciate.
Money cannot buy everything. Nor should it.
“One more time, Hudson. Can’t have a glitter tongue for your Thanksgiving pageant.”
It would be cool, and memorable, but Ingrid doesn’t need the stress, so rinse him out we will. He thought pooping glitter would be the best way to spend the holiday week, and he knew swallowing it was the only way to make it happen.
For the record, I did not suggest an alternative method to sparkly poop.
“My teeth have the power!” he crows.
The squirrel slips and slides along the tub, chasing a tube of lip gloss that he can’t get his little paws around.
Zoe pops her head in and studies us with her dark eyes. She has flour smudged across her pink Waverly Sweet T-shirt and glitter stuck to her black leggings, and she’s holding a bottle of glue. “We can’t find the cap.”
“Skippy stole it,” Piper reports behind her. It’s like looking at a mini-Ingrid when she makes her the damn squirrel causes all the problems face, except she has a dusting of glitter freckles and I’ve never seen Ingrid wear a Thrusters shirt with Thrusters leggings and a Thrusters gaiter used as a headband. “We should throw it away and then tell Mom we used it all making her Christmas presents so she can’t be mad.”
“Mom doesn’t get mad when we use all the glue, dummy. She gets mad when we use it all and don’t tell her and then you or Hudson need it last-minute before your science project is due.”
“We don’t have science projects, dummy.”
“Did you know Ares Berger’s wife has dummies?” I ask. The hockey star and his ventriloquist wife are the first thing that pops into my head, and I figure it’ll diffuse the situation.
I’m right. Piper and Zoe stop fighting.
And I’m wrong. Because Piper is shapeshifting before my eyes from a normal seven-year-old girl and into a monster.
“OH MY GOD, DO YOU KNOW ARES BERGER?”
Piper shoves Zoe out of the way and crowds me up against the sink, a mini rabid fan-girl attack unfolding in ways that I didn’t see coming, but I probably should’ve, considering her outfit, plus the Thrusters posters all over her half of her bedroom walls and the way she talked about which Thrusters shirt she was planning to wear to Thanksgiving, and which pair of Thrusters pajamas she was taking to stay over at Aunt Portia’s house tomorrow night.