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Zahra
Cal, when are you bringing your kid to Dreamland?
Zahra
We would love to have her!!!
No wonder Declan didn’t want her in the chat. If there is one thing he hates more than texting, it’s people who text multiple messages at a time.
I shut my eyes and take a deep breath before replying.
I gotta go.
I put my phone on silent and ignore the rest of their messages. I’ve gotten better at avoiding the two couples over the last few months, especially since Rowan and Zahra have been busy working at Dreamland while Declan and Iris are overwhelmed with their house renovation and focused on getting pregnant.
If someone asked me years ago if I would be the last one out of my brothers to be single, I would have laughed in their face. My brothers have the emotional intelligence of toddlers and personalities equivalent to beige paint, yet they both achieved something I never could.
They found happiness and love with someone else.
For a time, I thought I had that too. Or at least I did until I screwed it all up, ruining any chance at having the same thing.
You sound jealous.
Probably because Iam.
Iskip my usual morning tinto and have a double shot of espresso, hoping a good hit of caffeine will save me from the utter exhaustion I wake up with. After spending the entire night tossing and turning from Cal’s surprise midnight appearance, I’m tempted to crawl back into bed and sleep for the rest of my Saturday. I totally would if I wasn’t expected to be in full mom mode all day.
Cami loves constant attention and affection, and I’m happy to spoil her with it. After growing up with a father who abandoned me and a sister who doesn’t give a crap about me, there is nothing I want more than for Cami to always feel loved.
Usually, I can whip up arepas con queso from scratch with no problem, but today, my feet drag as I head on over to the pantry. It’s days like today that make me wish I bought sugary colorful cereal from the grocery store like most families and called it a meal.
I’m just barely able to make it through preparing breakfast. By the time I’m done cutting up some fruit and serving Cami a small cup of juice, I’m nearly ready to topple over.
“Are you feeling okay, Mommy?”
“Just tired.” I lean against the counter.
Her forehead creases. “Do you still want to watch the game?”
I gesture to our matching yellow soccer jerseys. “Of course. Your grandma would expect nothing less.” My mom’s love for our national team never faded even after we moved to America from Barranquilla when I was seven. Cami and I honor her memory by continuing the tradition of watching the games together while eating one of her favorites, pandebonos.
“Yay!” Cami’s bright grin with her missing front tooth warms my heart.
“It’s settled then. Now eat while I fix your hair.” Braiding Cami’s hair is a soothing task to keep my mind occupied. Throughout the day, I probably fix her hair at least three different times. No matter what kind of hairstyles I try or what products I use, it only takes an hour for her hair to turn into a mess of knots and flyaways.
She stuffs pieces of food into her mouth as I brush her hair. In the middle of me finishing her french braid, my stomach growls, so I reach over to steal a piece of her fruit.
She slaps my hand away. “Hey! Get your own.”
I tickle her until she gives up on hoarding her strawberries. Her sassy little sigh makes me smile as she stabs a piece of a cut-up strawberry and offers her fork to me. I’m about to take a bite, but the doorbell chimes, interrupting me.
“I got it!” Cami hops off her stool.
“Not so fast there.” I snag her before she runs out of the kitchen and place her back on the seat. “What did I say about answering the door?”
“Don’t open the door to strangers.” Her legs swing back and forth underneath her, still too short to reach the floor.
I tap her nose. “Exactly. Why don’t you finish up while I go see who is there?” I point at her plate before exiting the kitchen.
