She doesn’t answer. I wonder if I’ve pushed her too far.
Me: You really love that nephew of yours.
Maggie: Most aunts love their nephews.
Me: You’re throwing him this party?
Maggie: I am.
There is a tender space in my heart, one I don’t talk about often, for a woman who loves and cares for a boy that isn’t her son. It’s what Vovó was to me. And all at once, I know where my curiosity and intrigue with Maggie comes from.
Vovó.
In some strange way, this woman whom I have spent so much time loathing reminds me of my grandmother.
Me: Can I ask about his situation?
Maggie: Nope.
Me: But you care for him?
Maggie: Wyatt has a lot of people who care for him.
Me: Lucky kid.
Maggie: Are you coming or not?
Me: I’ll come. I need that address.
Maggie McCrae is making it more and more difficult to dislike her.
Seventeen
Balloons,party guests, and Brent.
Brent.
If I weren’t at a six-year-old’s birthday party, I might be dropping four-letter words that are completely inappropriate.
Why is my sister’s online friend here? The friend who still doesn’t know she’s in recovery. The friend who I’m not sure I approve of yet. And while Lindy is an adult, if this man is going to be in Wyatt’s life, I want the power to veto him.
I’m setting up the next game for Wyatt and his five little buddies when my sister walks over.
“When is the main attraction arriving?” she says, brows bouncing.
I can’t help it, I glower. That’s exactly the kind of thing Lucca would love being called. “Saint Lucca will be here any minute now.” I clear my throat. “Can I ask why Brent is here?”
Lindy blinks too many times for it not to be defensive. “I told you he knows about Wyatt. I invited him. What’s so wrong with that?”
“Plenty,” I say, plain and simple, as I stand ontiptoes and tie the soccer ball piñata I made to the top of our porch overhang. “There’s plenty wrong with that. Does Wyatt even know who Brent is?”
“I introduced them when he arrived. I called him a friend. That’s all.” Her jaw clenches. “Does he know who Giani’s mom is? Does he know Adam’s dad? They’re here.” She crosses her arms. “That awful Courtney who’s always telling you that you don’t understand motherhood is here. Why not Brent?”
I sigh. “Lind. I’m sorry. I’m not trying to be difficult.”
“I know,” she says with a swallow. “You’re protective. And I get it. I’ve made mistakes?—”
I shake my head. My overprotective nature isn’t intended to give my sister more guilt. I don’t want that. But Iamprotective. I can’t help it. But I don’t want my apprehensions to hurt Lindy further. “It’s not about that. I just worry it’s too soon.”
