Page 431 of Devil’s Disciples

Familia Ante Omnia.

Filled with pride and a sense of belonging, I recited the phrase, in English.

“Family over all.”

160

Goose

Ally was dressed in a pair of cut-off overalls, a white tank top, and her sneakers. We’d just finished watering and trimming everything on the roof deck. It was one of the Sunday chores we shared. Her cheeks wore a tinge of pink from a morning in San Diego’s early spring sun.

Standing beside our bench with an empty watering can swinging in her hand, she looked at me like I’d pissed on her parade.

“Disarray?” She dropped the can and put her hands on her hips. “Out-of-place? It’s no wonder your eyes are brown. You’re full of shit.”

“I’m serious,” I said.

“Point to it,” she demanded. Her eyes darted around the roof deck. “This entire place is spotless.”

I shook my head. “Not the house. My life.”

Her cheeks flashed from pink to bright red. “Your life is in disarray? You feel out-of-place? If it’s any consolation, my life is perfect. At least it was until you said that shit. What the fuck, Goose?”

As good as I was at talking to everyone else about their problems, I was terrible at talking to Ally about mine. In my eyes, she was perfect. That perceived perfection was intimidating. So much so that I often felt I was unworthy of her. Being in her presence during those times made me feel anxious.

It was one of those times.

“It sounds bad when you say it like that,” I explained. “It came out wrong.”

“All I did was repeat what you said.” She looked me over. “I’ll give you a chance to make it come out right. Take your time, because I’m not trying to hear that shit you said a minute ago. Not again.”

“I feel like everything’s cluttered up—”

“Cluttered up?” she huffed. “Cluttered—”

I raised my index finger. “I wasn’t done.”

She sighed. “Continue.”

Her hair was in pigtails. Not the “on the side of your head” type that Pippi Longstocking wore. They were more of a “braid on each side of your neck” affair. I liked them. In her overall-shorts, pigtails, and sneakers, she looked irresistibly adorable.

“You look cute,” I said. “Adorable, really.”

She kicked a loose rock across the roof. “Don’t try changing the subject, motherfucker. Get to talking.”

“I was just saying. I like those pigtails.”

“They’re not pigtails. They’re braids.”

“I like them.”

Her face scrunched into an angry scowl. “What’s cluttered, Goose? Talk to me. What’s fucked up? I can’t fix it if I don’t know.”

I took a mental pause and tried to think of a way to dumb it down. After some thought, I drew a long breath.

“I feel like there’s stuff at your apartment. Clothes. Shoes. I don’t know. Just stuff. The day to day stuff, and, of course, the other stuff. You’ve got some clothes here, some at your place, and I don’t like the thought of things not being organized.”

She wrinkled her nose. “You want me to clean my apartment?”