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“Oh.” Balling my hands in my lap to conceal their sudden shaking, I swallow over the lump in my throat. “The kids?”
August nods, face scrunched like it pains him to admit it, and adds, “The parents too.”
Great. That’s great. Here I was thinking August just preferred a life of relative solitude. But no. It was my fault all along, me ruining all his potential friendships by what? Existing? Being younger than the other moms? Having a worthless baby daddy?
I didn’t choose any of that. August certainly didn’t. Why do we bear the brunt of the judgment when there’s an infinitely more despicable participant, perfect to throw blame at? Why did I not know August was white-knighting things, suffering in silence so my feelings wouldn’t get hurt? Why—
“Mama.” Two fingers jab my shoulder, as sharp as August’s hiss. “Stop. I didn’t like those kids anyways. They were assholes.”
“Language.” I’ve really gotta talk to him about that. We’re walking on eggshells here, honey. Inquisitive eyes and ears everywhere. Multiple people praying on my downfall.
“Theywere.” My little knight in shining armor crosses his arms. Lifts his chin. Stares me down. Insists, “Team Lane. Without family, you’ve got nothing.”
God, one day he’s gonna find out I got our little mantra from a freakingFast & Furiousmovie and never forgive me. Especially if he also discovers I got our special handshake from an episode ofFriends.
Waggling his fingers against mine in the Lame Cool Guy Handshake I taught him almost immediately after he shot out the womb, the love of my life smiles. “Don’t be nervous. It’s gonna be a good day, okay?”
And there it is. The reason I survive any given day. My little sidekick, bodyguard, and best friend all rolled into one. Always looking out for me as much as I look out for him. “Okay.”
* * *
To no one’s surprise, Luna is more than willing to host us. She squeals at the suggestion, rattling off her address and instructing us to let ourselves in if we make it home before her since she needs to swing by the daycare a couple blocks over.
We don’t. Without discussion, August and I park ourselves on the front steps of a tastefully enormous house surrounded by a smattering of other tastefully enormous houses, nerves and estrangement and a lifetime’s worth of feeling distinctly unwelcome keeping us from following Luna’s instructions.
Resting back on my palms, I survey the small neighborhood situated along Sun Valley’s small patch of coastal forest, still within city limits but away from the hustle and bustle, close enough to the ocean to smell salt in the air but shielded by the tall trees blocking the sea from view. A tendril of jealousy curls in my chest, throbbing and growing when I glance aside and find August doing the same thing, something wistful on his young face.
When I was pregnant, I used to promise my little bump we’d live in a neighborhood like this one day, in a house like the one behind me. A real home with big windows and bedrooms to spare and a huge kitchen, mine to destroy to my heart’s content, and a yard for August to play in with the neighbors he would befriend. Silly sixteen-year-old me really thought that was possible. She never dreamed we’d go from my parent’s house to the one-bedroom cottage I serendipitously inherited from my late grandmother to my sister’s apartment. She would be crushed to know a decade later, we’re yet to have a home that’s really ours.
It’s a silly thing to be sad about. We’ve always had a roof over our heads, always been safe. I’m not gonna lie and say we’ve wanted for nothing but we’ve always had everything we’ve needed—I work my ass off to make sure of that. Sometimes, though, I can’t help but think how nice it would be to have a little more.
Like a sturdy front porch and a rust-free mailbox and a neatly trimmed front yard littered with skateboards and bikes and a dozen signs of happy, child-like life.
Nudging August’s knee with mine, I attempt a smile. “Not exactly the cottage, hey?”
He shrugs and slumps backwards to copy my stance, acting like this place isn’t beyond his wildest dreams too. “I liked the cottage.”
“So did I.” I liked it a whole lot more once our budget could include things like paint and plants and a decent sofa for me to collapse on every night—August and I stopped sharing the single bed in the bedroom when some little asshole at school made fun of him for still sleeping with his mommy. The cottage was nice. It was home and it was ours. But it was still just a cottage.
When a car turns into the chalk-stained driveway, I push any self-pitying thoughts from my brain and focus on the task at hand; playdating. Playdating well. Playdating so well, August—and hopefully just August—gets invited back and gets to live out all those playdating dreams I ruined.
With a baby on her hip and three kids weaving around her long legs, Luna strides up the driveway, tutting with teasing disapproval. “What are you, a vampire? Need an invite to cross the threshold?”
I stand, raking clammy palms down my thighs. “Figured your husband would have a heart attack if two strangers strolled in unannounced.”
Luna snickers as she scales the porch steps, bumping her unoccupied hip against mine. Close enough to reach, Pippa grabs a handful of my hair, yanking in that way babies love to do as a greeting. “Because you aresuchan imposing intruder.Boys,” she yells the latter as she unlocks the front door, kicking it open and gesturing inside. “Eat something before you destroy my house.”
With a stampede of feet, our eleven-year-olds obey. Trailing a couple of seconds behind them, a slightly younger blonde girl helps a toddler up the porch steps. “Sunday!” she shouts—I learned very quickly that Winona Jackson-Evanslovesto shout—when she catches sight of me, dragging her little friend up the last couple steps in her haste to throw herself at me. Arms wrapping around my waist, her chin digs into my stomach as she gazes up at me with baby blues inherited from her mother. “What’re you doing here?”
“That’s‘welcome, ma’am,’in ten-year-old,” Luna playfully admonishes her eldest daughter, twirling one of her pigtails around her finger and tugging. “Sunday and August are gonna hang with us for a few hours.”
Winona’s delighted squeals are the highest form of flattery, so worth their near-capability of piercing my eardrums. Bouncing from one foot to the other, she crooks a finger at the boy hiding behind Luna’s legs. “Matthias, c’mere. Say hi to Sunday.”
Matthias, I learn when Luna pats his head of burnish curls and introduces him, as her nephew. Whether she’s his nephew in the blood-related way or the Cass-is-her-brother way, I don’t ask—with these people, I don’t think it matters. Matthias, I also learn, is not as fond of befriending strangers as the rest of his extended family.
Smiling—or maybe grimacing—shyly around the thumb in his mouth, he reluctantly whispers, “Hi.”
“Is there something in the water around here?” I quietly, mostly jokingly ask Luna when she ushers us inside. “Is that how you all popped out such cute kids?”
