“Stop skipping our stretch time. Then maybe you could do it too.”
I stick my tongue out at the dig that’s too sassy for a seven-year-old and hand Jaxon the goal bag. It takes a moment for him to wrestle the collapsible goal down, but he eventually packs it up and slings it over his shoulder.
Jaxon hobbles over, licking a grass stain on his sleeve. “Where are your glasses, Jules? Mom is gonna be pissed when she finds out you’re on Mal’s phone without them.”
I crouch down, placing my hands on his ruddy cheeks. “Where did you learn that word?”
“Pissed?” He pulls an unwrapped lollipop from his pocket and stuffs it into his mouth. “You.”
It’s official. I’m going to lose my babysitting job.
“Don’t worry, Mal,” Julie says, flicking her brother’s nose. “Mommy says worse.”
Jane and I need to watch our mouths around these parrots.
Julie reaches for my outstretched hand and holds it tight. Her brother’s hand is sticky and wet, but I clasp it as we make our way through town.
I never thought I’d find myself in Clear Lake, North Carolina. It’s a college town that people seem to never leave, and I understand why. I don’t want to leave either. The record stores Shay and I spend hours roaming on the weekends. The hole-in-the-wall restaurants Isingle-handedly keep in business. The karaoke bars I’ve watched Cade morph into Whitney Houston in. My tiny twins.
After stopping by the record store, we make it to Sunshine Junction. Every table is filled with rowdy college students except for the booth in the back corner by the sunflower mural that is reserved for us. Julie climbs in first, sliding thick glasses over her nose before reaching for my phone.
“One, nine, one, six,” she mumbles, reciting my password. “Your mom and Cade texted.”
Walking out of counseling this afternoon, I sent my mom a message asking to talk. I’ve never been good at sitting on something for too long.
I slide onto the seat across from her and ask, “Can you read them to me?”
Julie nods, excited to show me how much her reading has improved. “Your mom said I’m free to...morrow. And Cade said do black pants and… a brown shirt go to…ge…ther?”
I laugh, ruffling her hair. “Great job, Jules! I’ll text them later.”
Jaxon tumbles into the booth beside me and points out his mom’s bright green hair. Jane drops off three steamy mugs, takes an order for a large party, and cleans up a spill in one trip, looking effortless as she does so. I’ve always admired that her hospitality voice and regular voice are the same.
“Mal, did you hear that?” Jaxon stands on the seat, his eyes trained on the table his mom is at. “I see Kenneth!” is the last thing he says before his stubby legs take off, heading toward the redhead he calls his second best friend. Jaxon is already across the room by the time I stand.
“Kenneth!” Jaxon shouts, leaping into Kenneth’s lap. An experienced pro with the rowdiness of the twins, he manages to keep his drink from toppling over and hugs the child.
“Jax! Have you grown since the last time I saw you?”
“Yup! And look!” Jaxon smiles wide and points at the gap between his teeth. “I lost my second tooth!”
“A big one too! How much did the Tooth Fairy bring you for that?”
“Fifty bucks,” I answer, stopping at the edge of the table. “The Tooth Fairy isn’t happy.”
A pang of hurt nips my skin at the miffed expression on Kenneth’s face when his eyes finally make it to mine. I didn’t assume he would be happy to see me, but I didn’t expect displeasure either.
But nothing is more surprising than the never-ending, gorgeous waves of deep auburn that flow over the back of the chair opposite of Kenneth. Gorgeous blue eyes that remind me of summer are looking up at me.
Kenneth is on a date. Adate!
“Oh…” My eyes dart between them before I extend my hand toward the beautiful woman. “I’m Mallory, and this is Jaxon. As you can see, he’s a slippery one.”
Jaxon wiggles in Kenneth’s arms. “Slippery! S…l…i…p…pery!”
A laugh slips between her painted red lips. From the amount of awe in her expression, you would think she has known Jaxon all his life.
“I’m Karla. It’s so nice to meet you, Mallory.” Instead of pulling her hand back, it drifts up. Dainty, painted fingernails pinch my olive-green sweater. “I love this color on you. I’ve been on the hunt for sweaters and have had zero luck finding ones that aren’t itchy. Where did you find this one?”
