Chapter Twenty-Seven
Cate
Thirty-four minutes.
I’d changed into jeans and a soft blue sweater that said, “responsible adult who definitely doesn’t build teepees in dining rooms.” Megan was in leggings and a purple tunic, her hair in two neat braids that I’d somehow managed despite my hands shaking like I’d had seventeen espressos.
Thirty-three minutes.
Downstairs, I could hear the controlled chaos of four grown men trying to dismantle a craft store explosion in record time.
“Where do these go?” That was Hayden.
“I don’t know, just—just put them somewhere!” Nathan’s voice, slightly panicked.
A crash.
“SHIT!”
“Fitz, be careful with—”
Another crash. That one sounded like glass.
Oh God. Oh God, they’re breaking things. They’re actually breaking things. The social worker is going to show up and there’s going to be broken glass everywhere and blood probably, knowing Fitz, and they’re going to think we live in a disaster zone run by incompetent adults who can’t even clean up without destroying the house and possibly requiringmedical attention and—“Was that the good china?” Julien’s voice sounded horrified.
“There’s GOOD china?” Fitz sounded equally horrified.
“Not anymore!” Nathan called back.
We’re doomed.
We’re absolutely, completely, catastrophically doomed.
“Cate?” Megan was looking up at me with those big eyes. “Why is everyone yelling?”
“They’re just... helping Daddy clean up before our visitor gets here.” I forced a smile that probably looked more like a grimace. “You know how grown-ups get when they’re trying to tidy quickly.”
“Uncle Fitz said a bad word.”
“Yes. Yes, he did. We’ll... we’ll talk to him about that later.”
If we survive this. If Child Services doesn’t take Megan away and arrest me for being a terrible influence who lets people say bad words and break good china.
Thirty-two minutes.
I took Megan’s hand and headed downstairs, trying to prepare myself for whatever scene awaited us.
The living room was... better. The couch cushions were back where they belonged. The toys had been corralled into bins. The glitter drawings were gone from the walls, though I could see a faint sparkle on the coffee table that suggested the glitter itself was immortal and would outlive us all.
And probably show up in the social worker’s report.
“Home contains excessive amounts of craft herpes.”
In the dining room, Julien was frantically folding bed sheets while Hayden dealt with approximately forty balloons, trying to pop them quietly, which was apparently impossible because each one made a sound like a small gunshot.
Pop.
“Jesus!” Nathan jumped in the kitchen, nearly dropping an armful of mixing bowls.
