“Oh, I love that one.” Maya gives her a bright smile. Turning toward my dad, she asks, “You’re a stockbroker, right? Cole mentioned it.”
He smiles, always happy to talk about his job. “I am, indeed. Do you know what month is typically the worst in the stock market?”
Darby, Emily, and I groan in unison. His “fun facts” and “interesting tidbits” are quite literally the fastest way to put me to sleep. Nate and I spent every ride to hockey practices and games listening to him drone on.Do you know how much of the stock market the United States represents? What does the Bull and Bear analogy represent? Did you know that someone used the stock market to understand the Hydrogen bomb?
“Technically September,” Maya responds without hesitation, “although October tends to see the biggest swings. Something called the October Effect, right?”
“You know the market?” I don’t think I’ve ever seen my dad look so excited. Not when Nate signed with the Trailblazers, and not when I signed with the Bobcats. Not even the first time he held each of his granddaughters. His eyes alight with pure joy now that he’s found someone who shows a sliver of interest in his job. God knows it’s not any of his own kids.
“My brother’s about to take his Series 79, so I know a little bit, but I read a thriller a few years back, and the main character was a financial analyst. That’s where I learned about the worst months.”
“You’re amazing.” Risking the chance that I’ll get punched in the dick for extreme PDA, I wrap my hand around the base of Maya’s neck and pull her toward me.
She gasps slightly against my lips as I claim her mouth.
Lily claps wildly. “Now you’re going to have a baby!”
I burst out laughing and struggle to regain my composure thanks to the looks of horror on everyone’s faces. Except for my mom, who looks interested in hearing about the likelihood of that possibility.
“Sweetie,” Zach says, leaning toward his youngest daughter. “She’s not having a baby.”
“Is, too,” Lily argues, arms crossed and pouting. “Mommy said that’s how babies are made. When adults kiss.”
“She also says that Uncle Coley likes to knock people up,” Violet adds unhelpfully.
My heart lurches, and now I’m the one wearing a mask of horror.
Maya turns to me, her face flushed with amusement. “Anything you need to tell me, Cole? Because it’s definitely too early in our relationship for me to be dealing with multiple baby mommas.”
I shake my head and suck in a harsh breath. Only then can I chuckle at the situation. “Em, mind sharing exactly what you’re teaching your children?”
“Girls, babies come from when two adults kiss and do a special hug in private,” Emily says, her face beet red. “And I said that your uncle knocks peopleoutduring hockey.”
“Only sometimes”—Darby lifts her wineglass in a toasting gesture—“and only when they deserve it.”
“Darby,” Emily and my mom simultaneously scold.
Dinner continues in a blur of refilled wineglasses, overlapping laughter, and embarrassing childhood stories. It’s the first birthday I’ve celebrated since Nate passed that’s been even remotely lighthearted. My mom doesn’t once excuse herself to the bathroom so she can cry in private. My dad isn’t wasted on whiskey and lost in a rabbit hole of memories. My sisters aren’t overcompensating with huge smiles and loud laughter.
It’s normal. Nice. And I owe much of that to Maya.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
maya
Cole Berrett
Have fun in class, baby. See you after the game.
Maya Silver
Good luck!!
With my phoneon silent and secured in my pocket once more, I push open the creaky door of auditorium 111. My classmates huddle in small groups, catching up on what their friends and acquaintances have been up to since our last class. I slide into an empty seat next to Brian, who’s regaling a few other students with tales of his rec league’s basketball game. The mood has changed dramatically since our first class, when we all sat in silence, rows away from each other. It didn’t take long for us to find the people we clicked with and create bonds. There’s something about reading someone’s first draft that knocks any vulnerability or shyness away.
“Does anyone want to grab drinks after this?” Marie asks. She’s a first-grade teacher interested in writing children’s books. “I desperately need one. Or two. Who are we kidding? I need a pitcher of margaritas.”
“Don’t tell me someone mispronounced another word,” I tease, taking my notebook out of my bag.
