I steal one more glance at my mom before the door closes. I try to memorize the way she’s standing tall and strong, even with her small frame. A fervent prayer smarts in my chest that her sobriety isn’t tied to the man beside her this time.
Because if Chaz breaks her heart, I’ll kill him.
Julia cackles as she pulls a photo from the cardboard box. “Oh my gosh! No way!”
She is sprawled on Tuck’s and my living floor in purple leggings and a cardigan. Her date with Dallas must have ended earlier than she planned. Tuck still hasn’t made it back to the apartment after the luau.
Julia’s short red hair fans across the living room carpet as shesuspends the frame above her face. The photo is of nine-year-old Tuck and me, arms slung around the other, with pairs of underwear jammed over our heads.
I try to grab for the picture, but Julia swats my hand.
“That’s a good look for you guys,” she cackles.
“You’re missing the whole point of the picture.” I point at the impressive—if I do say so myself—blanket fort draped behind us.
“Sorry, I just can’t stop looking at the panties on your head.”
“They weren’tpanties,” I huff, then quiet my voice to add, “they were superhero masks.”
The scraping of metal keys inside the door distracts Julia long enough for me to snatch the photo and stuff it back in the box.
Tucker walks in.
“Jules!” Tuck’s eyebrows lift as his hazel eyes soften. His navy chinos are now devoid of the grass skirt Heidi forced him to wear. He lets his backpack thud to the floor before he heaves down onto our second-hand couch.
Tuck lilts his voice in a terrible English accent as he speaks to Julia. “To what do Brandon and I owe the pleasure of this pleasant visit, Ms. Henway?”
Julia responds in an equally terrible accent. “Dallas had to end our date early to help his dad lift a dresser, good sir”—she curtsies from the floor with the hem of her cardigan—“and I fell subject to boredom.”
“Not subject to boredom!” Tuck feigns horror before dropping the act with a tilted grin. “For real, what’ve you and Brandon been up to?”
“Oh, nothing. Brandon’s just been showing me pictures of you in your underwear.”
Tuck’s attention cuts to me. “Bro!”
I roll my eyes, fish the evidence from the box, and toss him the frame.
He catches it and snorts. “Ahhh. I see. Now I can tell why you were so hot and bothered, Jules.”
Julia stops mid-cackle. Two burgundy splotches appear high on her cheekbones. “I wasn’t––”
“The blanket fort.” Tuck’s tone turns salacious. “You like a man who can build you stuff. Like organizational shelves. You do know how you love your shelves.”
“Why would I need someone to build those when I can buy them from Ikea?”
Tuck deadpans. “Have you seen those instructions, Jules? Blind people could build them quicker.”
Julia tips the shoulder of her cream cardigan, growing a touch defiant. “Dallas always builds my stuff anyway. He knows I’d probably get all confused, so he takes care of it…” Her smile returns. “So yeah, Tuck. I guess you’re right. I like a man who can build me stuff.”
Tuck only nods and slides onto the floor beside me.
“What else is in here? And where did all this crap come from, anyway?”
I open my mouth, but Julia pipes up. “I found it shoved behind some coats in Brandon’s closet. Don’t worry, I wasn’t snooping. I needed to measure your closets to see if the baskets I bought for you guys would fit. And I have to say the messes I found wereextremelydisappointing.”
Tuck puffs a laugh, but Julia snaps a finger and pokes it at his chest. “Don’t get me started onyourcloset. Have you ever heard of a hanger? Never mind. Gosh, you guys are so lucky to have me.”
“Yeah,” I say dryly. “Who else would color-code our bookshelf?”
