“It’s a tube of mascara. Not a bottle.”
He frowns at me, exasperated. It’s an expression he wears more and more now, especially when it’s something new with Maddy.
“Okay. A tube,” he says, drawing out the word to be a brat.
“I’m done,” Maddy says, barreling down the stairs. “We can go now.”
“Finally,” Wylder says, wound a little tighter than usual.
“Baby, it’ll be okay,” I reassure him, wanting him to have a good day.
“I want today to be perfect,” he says.
“It will be.” I smile at him.
“Who’s ready to go eat?”
Hazel’s the first one heading toward the door. “I’m having one of every dessert,” she says before turning the knob.
“Of course you are,” I tell her as I follow her out the door. “Who needs pasta when you can have cannoli?”
“Not me.” She marches toward the car, looking older than she did the day before.
The girls are growing quickly. The features on their faces are changing rapidly. I don’t think I’m ready for them to grow up. I can’t imagine how my father felt seeing me change in every way right before his eyes.
“Do you think Nino will be there?” Maddy asks as we walk toward the bar on foot to enjoy the summer day.
It suddenly makes sense why she was so concerned about making sure her appearance was perfect. Maddy has a little crush on my cousin.
Of course, he is way too old for her, but that never stopped a teenage girl from trying.
“I think so. I’m not sure if he’s done at school for the summer, though.”
“Oh.” Her shoulders sag a little like the air of possibility was instantly sucked out of her.
“Nino’s nice,” Hazel says as she stomps down the sidewalk in a new pair of sandals that are too big for her feet. “He makes funny faces.”
Thank God Maddy and Hazel are so far apart in age. I’m not sure I could handle two girls in puberty and hitting their boy-crazy era at the same time.
I slide my hand in Wylder’s, feeling the tension radiating off him. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” he says, glancing at me for a moment. “I’m just hungry.”
“Tate,” Brax calls out, spotting us. “Wait up.” He jogs across the busy street, weaving in and out of traffic.
“Hi,” I say, lifting my free hand.
“Hey,” Wylder greets him.
The girls give little waves to my brother before going back to their private conversation. Tomorrow, they leave for camp, trying it again and hoping for different results.
“Phew. I thought I was late, but at least I’m not walking in alone,” Brax says, breathing heavily to try to catch his breath like he jogged here.
We’re near Cheryl’s house, and I expect her to be on the front porch, waiting for us. But she isn’t. “Where’s your Ma?” I ask Wylder as I stare at the now-empty chair she’s always waiting in.
“Tate,” Wylder says.
I turn my head, and he’s not there. I look down, and he’s on one knee with a small box in his hand.
