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Once I’ve sliced through the clear tape, I set the scissors down and open the top. Inside is another box, but this one is unmistakable. Excitement festers in my belly as I read the logo: PENELOPE Lingerie.
I quickly tear my way into the smaller white box, finding five pairs of designer bras with matching panties. They are all so pretty—and my size.
I pause after examining each piece because I didn’t order these. And then I remember... Drago said he would replace the pair of underwear he ripped off me. These have to be from him.
I pull a pair of panties out, holding them up.Leopard print, huh?
I don’t get to dwell on any of the expensive lingerie he must have ordered for me because there is a quick rap at my door. When I turn around, it’s opening and in walks my sister-in-law.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, happy but surprised.
“I have a meeting Monday morning”—she closes the door behind her—“so I thought I’d come down for the weekend and steal you to myself. How’s spa weekend with your most favorite person in the whole world sound?”
“Jackson’s here, too?” I tease.
“Bitch.” We both laugh. Alana drops her purse down into the seat of my recliner. “So?” she prompts, putting her hands on her designer jean-clad hips. The cream, off the shoulder top she’s wearing reminds me of the Alana from her college years. She looks less uptight than usual. She looks happier than I’ve seen her in the last year.
“What’s up with you?” I shake my head.
“What do you mean?” She cocks her head in confusion.
“You just... seem different. Lighter, I guess.” She looks radiant and younger than her thirty-six years.
Her eyes downcast as if she’s in thought. It only lasts for a second or two, and then she waves her hand as if I’m crazy, turning away from me.
“Go pack a weekend bag. I want to check-in at the hotel soon.” She opens her purse, riffling through until she finds her smartphone.
“I can’t.” It comes out as a whine, because as much as it would be great to spend the weekend with her, I don’t have anyone to watch the baby.
She looks up, away from her phone, but moves her fingers on the screen. She’s an excellent multitasker; always has been.
“You have a date I don’t know about?”
“No,” and then I pause “Well, no, not really, but there is something I have to tell you.”
Her eyes narrow, drilling into me. “So, in other words, you’ve been keeping something from me?”
“Really?”
“Yeah, Bri, really, so what is it?”
“I’m not one of your kids, remember? Don’t give me that ‘mommy’ look you do so well.”
“Well, there’s Gabe,” I confess. I haven’t brought him up in weeks and neither has she, so I doubt she thinks I still have him.
“What?” She shakes her head, dropping her smartphone to her side. “Why do you still have him?”
“Because someone has to take care of him.” And I do. He needs me. I can’t hand him over to some stranger who doesn’t know him, or his routines. It took me forever it seems like to get him to the weight he’s supposed to be. I can’t let someone come behind me and fuck that up. I can’t let him be neglected again.
“How is that your problem?”
“Are you kidding me? This coming from you?”
I’m a bit shocked at her reaction. Alana is nothing if not a protective mother. Child abuse is her biggest fundraiser each year. She and my brother co-chair a charity to raise money to fund free housing for women and men with children that includes extensive parenting classes to make sure the parents have the knowledge and tools to care for their children.
Coming from a broken home herself where she was routinely mentally abused as a small child, Alana has a short fuse for child neglect.
“What’s the other?” she asks, ignoring the problem I have with her on the Gabriel issue.
