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“I hope you liked your cupcake, Kerrigan.” She smiles as she walks around to my side of the table and pushes a blonde curl away from my baby’s face. “I’ll see you next week, little miss.”
“Bye, Miss Evie,” Kerrigan whispers.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Cinderella.” Her pretty face pinks up again before she heads for the door.
“Miss Evie looks more like Sleeping Beauty than Cinderella, Daddy.”
I turn my face back to my baby as the door shuts behind Everly. “Oh yeah?”
She nods excitedly. “But Miss Evie is prettier,” she says with an innocent awe in her voice.
“Yeah, baby. Miss Evie is definitely prettier.”
Sometimes, self-care is reading a book by candlelight in a warm bubble bath. Other times, it’s telling someone to fuck all the way off. Depends on the day.
EVERLY
“Are the boys coming tonight?” Grace asks as we round the corner in our parents’ gated community. Fall came early to Kroydon Hills, and the sun already sits lower in the dusky sky than it did even a week ago. My parents’ neighborhood always looks like it’s been ripped right out of a Hallmark movie. Old, tree-lined streets block the views of most mansions, hidden behind perfectly manicured hedges and wrought iron gates. When your dad is the most famous professional quarterback in the country, privacy is something your family values.
And that’s before you factor in the rest of our very large family.
My grandfather and uncles have all played professional football or coached the game. Some have done both. Our aunt Sabrina is a congresswoman and former First Daughter. And my cousin Lilah has been singing her way across the country for the past two years on her first big stadium tour, opening up for a famous, former boy bander.
Most of my family lives in this neighborhood these days. Actually, Uncle Brady and Aunt Nattie, and Uncle Murphy and Aunt Sabrina live on the same street as Mom and Dad. Buttonight, Mom promised it would just be the eight of us. My parents, my younger brothers—Nixon, Leo, and Hendrix—Grace and me, and our Uncle Tommy.
Uncle Tommy has autism and has lived with Mom since their parents died when he was a little boy and Mom was barely out of high school. He’s probably my favorite person in the world... Well, next to Grace.
I pull into my parents’ long driveway and park my baby-blue Bronco soft-top next to Nixon’s truck and watch as my brothers all pile out of it. We like to tease him that it’s so big, he’s definitely compensating for something else. My youngest brother, Hendrix, hops out of the back of the truck and smacks the hood of my car before I throw open my door and hit him in the stomach on purpose. “Hey, shithead. Watch it.”
Leo, three years older than Hendrix and two years younger than Grace and me, smacks Hendrix across the back of the head. “Evil twin will skin you alive if you fuck up her baby.”
I cock my head to the side and purse my lips.
He knows me so well.
Grace giggles and throws her arms around our youngest brother. “Hennnnnyyyyyy,” she squeals. “You grew.”
Hendrix picks her up and squishes her to him. “Two inches since you’ve been gone. Doc says I’ve got another one or two in me still.”
Nixon rounds the front of the cars and throws an arm around my shoulder. “Told you, little brother. You’re a grower not a show-er.”
Hendrix grabs his nuts. “How about I show you this?”
“Eww, boys.” I gag and shove Nix’s arm off me.
The asshole kisses the top of my head, then grabs Grace from Hendrix.
“Hellooo...” Leo snaps his fingers in front of my face. “What the hell am I? Chopped liver?”
I reach up on my toes and kiss the giant pain in my ass’s cheek, then shove him toward Mom and Dad’s front door. “Nope. You’re my favorite. Just don’t tell the others.”
Leo and Hendrix both play hockey for Kroydon University. Leo’s a junior, and Hendrix is a freshman. They like to act big and bad, but seriously, I’m pretty sure Mom still does their laundry. It’s easier to get to see them during the year than Nixon. He’s a senior at Boston University, and the Captain of BU’s hockey team. Pretty sure he’s still a little pissed Dad convinced him to finish his degree instead of entering the draft last year. At least he bitched about it enough last summer.
I follow them all through the front door, and we all make a beeline to the kitchen, where the delicious scent of grilled steak greets us from the backyard. My stomach growls, reminding me I haven’t eaten since Sweet Temptations this morning.
“Smells delicious, Momma,” Nixon tells Mom before he steals a sliced tomato from a plate covered in tomato salad.
“My babies are all home,” she coos and cups his cheek. “This doesn’t happen enough anymore.”
