I understand they don’t tell me everything. There’s much about their lives I prefer not knowing, but the things Idowant to know include where they live, when they move, and, in particular, when they’re moving backhome.
“I thought Anamaria only needed a place to stay while one of her roommates is in heat.” The times I’d met my oldest daughter’s friends, the same ones she’d moved in, with they seemed decent and friendly, both omegas, like her. “Is she moving back for good?”
“For now.” Bebe rolls her eyes. “It was too much omega-ness in one spot. Drama all over the place. Though also, I think she’ll be okay staying friends with them, but living together for so many months got her comparing herself to them full-time. She’s always worried about being a good omega and doing thingsright, no thanks to Mom picking at her all the time about what omegas are supposed to be. And her roommates are omegas of the same type: small and bubbly and competitive as hell.”
A growl rolls up through my chest, and my hands clench; there’s not much I can do except welcome Anamaria back and support her. No stern warnings or fists or bribes allowed. Definitely no lecturing unrelated omegas on how to treat my daughter.
Bebe’s still standing between me and the movers, as though she expects me to rush off and confront Anamaria’s former roommates or rush over to her sister, pull her from Johanna’s arms, and hug her, then blanket her in bubble wrap.
So I hug my middle daughter instead. “Very insightful of you. Are you changing fields and becoming a counselor too?”
“Nah.” Bebe wrinkles her nose. As a beta, her scent is weaker than her sisters’, but a hint of grapefruit flares around her. “I’ll stick with statistics. I’ve got enough to deal with my own problems—why would I want to juggle other people’s?”
“Just your sisters’?”
“Them? Always.” She laughs hard enough to slip out of my embrace.
At the far end of the narrow yard, Anamaria remains sheltered in Johanna’s arms, shivering in the cool breeze. She hasn’t noticed my exchange with Bebe, but Johanna has. A soft smile curves her lips, and warmth lurks in her eyes as she meets my gaze. A dip of her head, then she’s urging my oldest daughter into the house.
They angle around the movers, but one of the alphas and the beta. whose name I still can’t remember, each pause their progress just long enough to give Anamaria what looks like friendly nudges.
My eldest daughter doesn’t seek comfort from me, not this time. Fortunately, it’s something I’m used to, since Johanna has been a second mother to Anamaria for most of her life. A flicker of concern grips my chest that, if my efforts to develop a closer relationship with Johanna go sour, then so too will her connection to my children. But they’re all grown and mature enough to maintain their own circles independent of me.
Johanna wouldn’t do that. Nor would I ask it of her, or them.
A mere two nights with her next to me—better sleep than I’ve had since before Max fell ill—a few confidences, and I’m caught, with as much or more life throbbing in my veins than when I was young and foolish, courting my ex-wife.
Guilt burns next to fear, for I have this only because Max is gone.
Before I can slide down that hill, Bebe thrusts her elbow into my side, making me jump.
“Enough drooling after Aunty Jo.” She nudges me again, with less force this time. “Don’t be too obvious. She’s not quite ready. Give her another day or three.”
The bones in my neck creak as I stiffen. “How did you?—”
“Guess?” Bebe shrugs. “You’ve loved her for ages. I’ve caught you all but drooling over her on multiple occasions. Why wouldn’t living alone together, without Uncle Max, in this mucking big house not help you guys grow closer? Not that I want any of the details, mind, and keep the public displays of affection to a minimum. Maybe a kiss now and then, but I’ve no desire to see or hear proof that parents have sex.”
“That doesn’t surprise me,”—I pull her in for a quick hug, which she allows even though it’s a public display of affection—“but that you noticed the change does.”
“Just because I’m not interested in sex doesn’t mean I can’t see when other people are.” She rolls her eyes. “Seriously, Dad, you were all googly-eyes over Aunty yesterday at brunch. If she didn’t notice, she’d have to have wantednotto see, though my money’s on her getting the gist.”
Before I can think better, I ask, “Do your sisters know?”
She rolls her eyes yet again. “Dad!”
Rather than address the clear implication that they do, I give her another squeeze, then let go and redirect us to join the procession of Anamaria’s friends carrying boxes into the house. Enough of Anamaria’s things remain for me to contribute, although carrying boxes up to the third floor reminds me that I’m not as young as I sometimes think—wish—I were.
Seeing Anamaria happily setting up her room makes any soreness in my knees and shoulders worth it. Likewise, when we’re all gathered, family and friends, for pizza after, Johanna at the foot of the table and me at the head, with the girls and their helpers on either side.
Absolutely worth the pain.
One of the alphas takes Max’s chair unknowingly, a man who’s watching Anamaria in a way that makes me wince and think of Bebe’s ‘googly-eyes’ description. Nevertheless, there’s something right about us, together, in this moment.
Then, the doorbell rings.
Anamaria leaps up to answer before anyone else can. What she’s hoping for she doesn’t say, but after a murmur of distant voices, she returns with a crystal vase of roses—well over a dozen in full bloom, all red, pink, and white mixed together—and a square package wrapped in matching pink ribbon and tissue paper.
“Aunty Jo, these are for you!”
