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“Let’s be nice to Sister Sass,” Papa Bear tells the kids as he pats my shoulder. “She’s dealing with a lot of emotions today.”
“I’m sorry,” Scout says, even though she’s the least evil of Overlord’s four kids.
“You’re my favorite,’ I tell the child who owns the same golden hair and eyes as her mom/sister, Jules.
Scout’s little round face lights up under my adoring praise. Meanwhile, her siblings aren’t impressed.
Anthony mutters, “I can’t even with girl drama.”
“You can’t even with anything, child,” I reply to the five-year-old.
“No, I can,” Anthony says and nods at his buddy, Clark.
Mabie’s son walks over to me and wants a hug. I pick him up, knowing the three-year-old is too sweet to wipe boogers on me or any other nefarious shit his buddies might try.
“It’s going to be okay,” he says and squeezes me.
Smiling at Clark, I hope the kid Jester eventually pounds into my bang-hole is a sweetheart like this little guy. I bet I could be a really good mom if my kid was easy like Clark.
Of course, I’ll probably end up with a demonic menace like Zoey.
“Should I change my shirt before dinner?” I ask Lady Bug after Clark leaves to play with his buddies.
My stepmom and I have never been tight. I can’t look at her without thinking she’s replacing my mom.
Of course, Betty Boop would want people to be happy rather than wallow in grief. But I was her only little girl. She worried most about me. I think she was happy when I was a butch brat. Like I was safer in the world if I didn’t own my femininity.
As I got older, I wished I could feel comfortable being girly. Could I pull off a bouncy ponytail? Would I rock out a poodle skirt like Betty Boop did? Would I look silly with bright red lips?
I never tested out those ideas because I didn’t look naturally soft like my mom. I worried I’d seem like a joke next to her natural beauty, so I didn’t even try.
But for Jester, I want to look prettier. That’s why I asked Lady Bug for advice on what shirt to wear. She also talked me into adding layers to my long brown hair.
“It’ll look purposely messy that way,” she explained a month ago when I succumbed to my insecurities and asked for help.
Lady Bug looks kinda bohemian with her long brown hair and flowery skirts. Though not as dolled up as my mom, she owns her feminine side.
“Did you get sweaty on the ride home?” Lady Bug asks quietly.
I turn my gaze to my father watching us nearby. Papa Bear offers me a slow, taunting smile.
Rolling my eyes, I shrug. “Yeah, I went all horndog on the way home. Should I change?”
“Did you secrete anything?” Nadia asks, looking me over. “Why would you need to change?”
“I got sweaty.”
Nadia leans closer and sniffs me. “You smell fine. Minty. Is that your body wash?”
“No, it’s my cologne.”
“Very primal,” she taunts and snickers with Kat.
“I regret playing peacemaker between you two,” I grumble at the sisters while Lady Bug draws my gaze back to her.
I stare into her eyes and wish she was Betty Boop. My mom would know just what to say. But holding on to my grief can’t bring back my mom. It only keeps me stuck in the past. That’s why I turn to Lady Bug for wisdom.
She offers a soft smile. “If you feel uncomfortable in the shirt, change it to something that feels better. There’s no wrong answer. It’s just a shirt.”
