“Oh! They’re polyamorous! How wonderful!” Mom gushes while we turned shocked eyes on her. “Well then, I think they would be perfect for one of my daughters.” Mom’s large, dark eyes land on me.
“Why are you looking at me?” I scowl at them.
“Well, you’re the oldest, and probably closest in age,” Violet points out.
“And I feel like you had chemistry with the both of them on Saturday night.” I give Lily the angry eyes to keep her fat mouth shut, but the table has already gone quiet.
“Oh, and what were you doing on Saturday night, mija?” Mom asks, a twinkle in her eye.
My clothes feel too tight. Is it hot in here?
“Oh, I imagine Lily means when Fox and Nitro had to escort our little Jazz out of the club and take her statement about assaulting some guy,” Moss casually lets slip as he takes a huge bite of tamale, his cheeks puffing out as he smiles wide.
One of those filthy, rat bastards snitched!
“You what?!” my mother screeches.
“He called Lily fat!” A collective gasp goes around the table and nonexistent pearls are clutched as heads whip toward Lily.
“That scoundrel!” my dad growls at the same time my mother calls him a motherfucker under her breath.
Which sums up their relationship perfectly. My sweet, lovely dad and my fiery mother. Us kids all fall on a spectrum between the two. Lily is the most like our father, which means she is to be protected at all costs.
“Ok, let’s cool our jets,” Moss placates while Jules watches everything going on with a smirk on his face. “The guy was a dick and Jazz broke his nose.”
My mother nods and reaches out for my hand. “Good work, baby. But how’s your hand? Are your meds working?”
I knew we would circle back around to this at some stage. Sunday dinner is always a chaotic event where we eat Mom’s delicious food and catch up. And it’s also the once a week check in where I let everyone know that yes, I’m taking my meds, yes they are working, and yes, I’m feeling well.
10 years ago
Lupus. That’s why I’ve been feeling like shit for months now. Going up and down stairs was getting harder and harder, my ankles and knees killing me by the end of the day. My hands were so sore, swollen fingers, and that wasn’t even the worst of it. I was exhausted. Fatigue nipping at my heels no matter how much sleep I got.
“So I take it you went to the Dr then? What is it?” Gavin asks, sounding slightly impatient.
“It’s um, Lupus. No cure, but with medication and lifestyle changes we can manage it.”
He scrubs his hands down his face, looking away for a moment. “Look, it’s not that I don’t love you or anything, but there’s no ‘we’ in this. We’re young and at college. You can’t go to parties anymore or do much of anything. We can’t even bone like we used to because you’re tired or nauseous or something hurts. I’m sorry, babe, but I’m out. I’ll grab my stuff later, yeah?”
I’m snapped out of my thoughts by the sound of Heath and Reed yelling “Nads! Nads!” to get my attention.
“When do you think they’ll get over that? I really do not want to be known as Nads for the rest of my life.”
“Look, I don’t call the shots, they’ve dubbed you Nads, therefore, from now until death that’s how you should be known,” Moss says with a shit eating grin.
I stare him down, then return one of my own. “You still on for tomorrow with my kids?”
“Bring it on, little sister.”
I narrow my eyes at Moss, ignoring mom’s sniffles, “Aw, look at you all, my family gathered around the table, Violet with her little family, Moss, minus Whorecules, with his beautiful boys, and my girls. Beautiful Lily and Jazz. Hopefully next weekend you’ll have two new suitors to bring with you.” Mom dabs at fake tears while dad presses a gentle kiss to her temple.
I ache for someone to love me like that, but that’s not in the cards for me. No man wants to take on a sick woman and I’m not going to waste my time with men who think they do only to be dumped when they realize it’s not all roses. No, my life is full enough with my family and the kids at school. If I tell myself that enough times I’m sure I’ll believe it one of these days.
Chapter 5
Nitro
“Yo Nitro, how was your weekend?” Moss asks, leaning against Hitchens’ desk, doing a good job of snooping without making it look too obvious.
