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“You’re not seriously complaining about your dreamboat of a husband. Your hot, inked, will-do-anything-for-you dreamboat of a husband,” Brielle said.
“Not seriously complaining, no. But if he had it his way, I’d be on bed rest until the baby is born. I’d go completely bonkers.”
“I still think it’s sweet,” Brielle said.
“Speaking of sweet,” Jazz said as she came into the kitchen. She held a to-go cup of coffee without the lid and a plate with a doughy biscuit looking thing.
“What is that?” I asked, pointing to the plate.
“Akolache. It’s got cheese, eggs, and hashbrowns in it. Hearty, savory breakfast,” Jazz explained.
“I was promised quiche, but I’m intrigued by thekolache.” I smiled. “And what is that?”
Jazz raised the coffee. “This, right here, is a work of art.”
The work of art in question had a two-inch-high crest of whipped cream.
“It’s a mocha caramel swirl with three shots of espresso and a mountain of whipped cream,” Jazz said, setting them both down on the wooden island.
I got up off the stool and moved it closer. “Thanks, Jazz. I might need a shot of insulin after this, but I think it’ll be worth it.”
“Most definitely,” Jazz agreed. “Kaley and Beatrice just clocked in. So, the front is covered while we get the skinny on your weekend.”
“How am I supposed to drink this?” I asked, reaching for the coffee.
“Didn’t think of that,” Jazz said, nibbling her lip. “Let me get you a spoon.”
“Nah, it’s fine. I’ll lick it like an ice cream cone,” I said in amusement.
“Okay, enough about the coffee,” Brielle said.
Brooklyn continued to chop vegetables while I relayed to them what had happened with Waverly. I told them about my mother’s complete abandonment, lack of communication, and the fact that she’d taken all of our belongings with her.
“What about your laptop?” Jazz asked. “Are you going to have to buy a new one?”
“No. Thank God. I had it in the trunk of my car. I haven’t left anything of true monetary value unattended with my mother in years. I learned that the hard way when she found the cash I’d stored in an air vent in an old apartment.”
“When did you move into the RV?” Brooklyn asked slowly.
“Right after your wedding,” I explained. “We were kicked out of our rental.”
“You didn’t say anything,” Brielle pointed out.
“Yeah, why do I get the feeling you purposefully kept that to yourself?” Jazz demanded. “And seriously? How were you able to keep that shit on lockdown? That’s like a really big life event.”
“But not for us,” I said, wincing. “We’ve moved around so much it’s like second nature at this point. My life—and Waverly’s life—have been nothing but a constant state of chaos for as long as I can remember. And telling you guys every time something happens because of my mother…well, it would just sound like a lot of drama.”
“Itisa lot of drama,” Brielle said.
“No offense,” Jazz said to Brielle. “But you come from a stable, loving family. Not all of us have that.”
“That,” I agreed, finally taking a bite of thekolache. “Good God…”
“Glad you like it,” Brooklyn said. “I was playing with the recipe.”
“I just don’t understand how you’re so calm about your mom bailing and the havoc she caused because of it,” Brielle said. “You’re like, not at all wigging out. And it sounds like you’ve already got everything sorted.”
“I am nothing if not adaptable. And frankly…”
