Page 82 of The Write Choice

“I work from home and make my own hours. Mac has weekends off. This is why you have friends nearby. It’s no big deal,” he insists.

“Are you sure? I’d call my parents, but it’d take them forever to get here—”

“I’m sure. You can return the favor someday, maybe. Hopefully.” There’s something in his voice there that I’m going to have to ask him about later, but I have two kids hanging on me and a sick wife downstairs, so it’ll have to wait.

“Okay. Yeah. That’d be awesome. Thank you.”

“No problem. You got cold and flu medicine for her?”

I wrack my brain, but I don’t know. “Can you pick some up just in case? The non-drowsy kind.” She’s said before that she can’t have anything that makes her loopy because it feels too close to being drunk, and she doesn’t want to risk it.

“Sure thing. See you in a few.” He hangs up.

I take a deep breath and look at the kids. “Pack a bag. You’re spending the night with Uncle Daniel.”

Mason whoops, and Katie moans from downstairs. I glare at Mason, and he covers his mouth with his hand as he slinks away to his bedroom. I scoop up Christine and take her to her room to pack.

By the time we have everything ready, Daniel is knocking at the door. Mac is jogging around to the driver’s seat of his car. She waves at me. “Tell Katie I hope she feels better soon,” she calls.

“We can keep the kids with us all weekend if you need. Or, you know, if you want.” Daniel winks as he hands me the bag of cold medicine.

“Careful with that offer,” I warn as I usher the kids to my car and get them buckled in. I give them each a kiss and tell them to be good before I trade keys with Daniel.

“Are you two ready to eat chocolate and stay up all night watching rated-R movies?” he asks as he climbs in the car. The last thing I hear before the car door shuts behind him are cheers of “best uncle ever!” from the back seat.

I watch and wave as they pull away, fighting a little pang of sadness that I haven’t heard from their biological uncle, Shane, in a while. I send up a quick prayer to the universe that he’s doing okay, but I don’t have time for more than that. Katie’s sick, and I need to take care of her.

I find her curled in the fetal position on the couch. I fill a glass of water and take it to her, along with the medicine. “Hey, Cat.” I push some hair out of her face. “Can you take this for me?”

“Mmm-mmm.” She shakes her head.

“I know, baby. This will make you feel better.”

“Can’t.”

“It’s just a pain reliever and a decongestant. It’s okay, I promise.”

She winks one eye open, then the other. “Promise?”

“Yeah, I do.”

She takes the pills from me and pops them in her mouth, chasing them with the water. She grimaces as they go down. “Did your parents come get the kids?”

I shake my head. “They’re spending the night at Daniel’s.”

She scowls at me. “I don’t have the energy to tell you all the reasons that’s a terrible idea.”

“You’re sick. They’re loud. I want to take care of you and not them.” I shrug. “They’ll probably come back alive.” I climb up the couch to sit next to her. I loop my arm around her shoulders, tucking her in next to me.

Her frown deepens. “You think you’re funny. You’re not.”

“So grouchy,” I mutter into her hair.

She sighs, then groans as she folds herself further into me. “I feel like shit, and I hate everything,” she says into my shirt. “You try not being grouchy when you feel like this.”

“You’re only proving my point,” I tease. I’m trying to keep her mind off how terrible she feels. It seems to be working; some of her normal edge is back already.

She’s silent for a moment, then she wraps her arm around my torso, her over-warm body almost sprawled over mine. “I wasn’t always grouchy.” Her eyelids are fighting to stay open, and her words are a little slurred with almost-sleep. “I know you think I am, but I’m not really. I look grouchy next to you. You get to come home and be fun. I have to do all the rules.” She goes quiet for a minute as her body relaxes. Then, she stirs awake again. “Everything got so loud and sad and hard. So lonely.” I can feel her slipping into sleep again. “I wasn’t born grouchy. I was made grouchy.”