I pause, my macchiato halfway to my lips, admittedly a bit thrown by the change-up. "Umm…" I lower my cup and try to remember. "Oh, I was with my sister."
"That sounds nice. What'd you do?"
"We, uh…" I search for an appropriate way to sayegged her ex's Honda. "Had a food fight."
Ruthie's eyes grow wide. "What? No way! I wonder if Dad would—"
"Eh, maybe we stick with the movies."
She sips again from her straw. "Yeah, you're probably right."
I chuckle, but my mind drifts back to spending my thirtieth birthday seeking revenge on Jo's degenerate ex-boyfriend. I don't even remember his name anymore. They were probably only together for about a month or so, but after three margaritas she would not let the egging idea go until we made it happen.
It wasn't exactly how I wanted to spend my night—it definitely wasn't how I wanted to spend my birthday. But I guess Grayson or Nelson or Jackson—somebody's son—had it coming. The guywasDMing some girl on Instagram and thought Jo wouldn't find out—a cheater and an idiot. If there's one thing about Jo… she always finds out.
And she blasts that shit all over the internet.
"I wish I had sisters," Ruthie adds. Her face scrunches slightly. "I'd even take a brother."
I smile, thinking about my own siblings and wondering what life would be like without them. I guess in some ways it'd be simpler. I would have had all of my parents' attention to myself, and I wouldn't have had to share toys or snacks, let alone a bedroom. I definitely wouldn't feel like a doctor on call every time my phone buzzes—hoping it's just a friend or sibling wanting to chat and not someone needing me to do something or be somewhere or make some sort of decision that could easily be figured out by the adult that's asking.
But I'd also be lost.
I'm sure it's different when you don't know any better, but having brothers and sisters isallthat I know. I wasn't even in school yet when Owen was born. Then shortly after that came Jo, then Margot, then Grant was here before I started high school. I was helping to take care of them before I learned to tie my shoes—willingly at first, mothering them like I was playing house. But now, that's just my role. The running joke isWhat Would Tessa Do?But sometimes I wonder what they would do without me?
What we would do without each other.
Ruthie waits for me to respond, but although I'm grateful she switched gears before asking what kind of ammo we used, I'm also unsure of how to reply without it looking like I'm prying. "Maybe one day," I settle on, smiling hopefully.
"I doubt it." She takes another bite of her cinnamon roll, and I wait patiently for her to explain. "Dad doesn't even date."
A heat prickles at the back of my neck that I tell myself is because we're entering inappropriate nanny-child conversation territory. I bring my cup to my mouth, letting the creamy liquid slip through my lips as I buy time to respond. Thankfully, Ruthie continues instead.
"He's always saying I'm the only girl he needs, but I keep telling him that soon I'm going to be busy with all my friends doing teenager stuff and he'll be retired, just sitting around waiting for me to come home."
I smother the laugh that almost escapes as I try to picture any professional athlete, let alone Liam Montgomery, just sitting around eating BonBons and sinking into the couch after retirement. "Maybe he'll pickup a new hobby," I offer, laughing again when I imagine Liam's giant frame hunched over a ball of yarn and knitting needles.
Why I immediately pictured him frowning while he hand-crafts a scarf, I'll never know. But I'm grateful for the mental image.
"Maybe," she says lightly, her lips around her straw. "But I still think he'd be less lonely if he had a girlfriend."
For whatever reason, I hold onto the image of Liam knitting rather than attempt to picture him with a woman on his arm. I slam back the rest of my coffee as the conversation naturally dies out, and before Ruthie can start it up again, I end it completely.
"What do you think?" I ask, my empty cup rattling against the table as I set it down. "You ready to head home?"
"Yeah," she says, wiping her mouth. "Hey, can we bring one of these home for Dad? He loves them."
"Sure," I answer, pretending that isn't the sweetest thing I've ever heard.
She grins. "Maybe it'll make him less grumpy."
We both stand, and I peer down at her, impressed. "Well, in that case," I say, pushing in my chair. "We better get two."
12
Liam
"Mine! Mine!"
