What if she starts kissing me? Shit.
Luckily, DJ starts wailing through the baby monitor, and Marissa shoots me an apologetic smile.
“Go, I’ll be right up too,” I tell her, relieved.
After my shower, I waste enough time in the bathroom to make sure they’re both asleep when I join them in bed. I carefully position my body as close to the edge as possible.
I stare at them for a long time. They look like a painting, Mother and Son.
I don’t wanna think about it anymore.
Chapter 3
Slim
There’s a lot of drunk people wanting to get a tattoo between Christmas and New Year’s, so the shop’s keeping busy. As I grumpily finish up a tattoo of SpongeBob fucking his buddy Squidward on some frat boy’s calf, I’m (for the hundredth time) reconsidering taking Marissa to the party.
On one hand, I want Rebel to see me with my old lady; I want her to know that I've gotten over her, that I’m not waiting around for her to make up her damn mind. I’m the one with the upper hand now. She needs to be the one to make it up to me, to chase me, to conquer me. Seeing me with Marissa might help her understand that.
On the other hand, the risk is high that someone will open their big mouth about me sneaking around with Rebel. Some brothers can’t handle their liquor. I don’t want Twitch’s creepy ass to force my hand before I’m ready.
Neither of us has to work today, so I sleep in, and then we spend a nice day at home before dropping Junior off at my mom’s. A red bandana keeps Marissa’s hair out of her face, and she’swearing a long, black cotton dress. I know she's hiding whatever outfit she's put on to surprise me.
We’re rarely in the cage together, the three of us, so it’s kinda nice. Marissa keeps glancing back at DJ as she tells me about the babysitter she hired. I appreciate that she never complains that my mom can’t help us out more.
It’s taken me years to come to terms with Mom’s morbid obesity and the fact that she could barely leave the house or drive, let alone run around the park with me like a regular mom.
Riss says she’ll be in and out, but it takes her twenty minutes to say goodbye to DJ, and when she finally gets back in the car, her eyes are red-rimmed, and it annoys me.
“Should’ve just taken him to the party and put him to bed in one of the rooms upstairs like I suggested,” I tell her.
She sniffs. “It’s better this way. That clubhouse is no place for a baby.”
“Jesus Christ, he’s not a baby. It’s like you’re trying to keep him dependent on you.”
I keep my eyes on the road, but I see her head jerk towards me.
“He’s seven months old, Dylan! He can’t walk, crawl, feed himself, or wipe his own butt. What the fuck do you want me to do? Give him a little briefcase and send him off to work?”
The image disarms me, and I chuckle. Then, I decide to extend an olive branch. “Are you looking forward to going back to work on Monday?”
“Not really,” she shrugs. “I like being home with DJ.”
I say nothing because I’m too busy thinking of going back to work myself.
“Ooh, I forgot to tell you. Sarah from work got engaged, and we’re invited to the party next month.”
I roll my eyes. “Why do people get married? It’s just a piece of paper for the government.”
Riss frowns. “So is money. So is a college degree.”
Normally, I’d tell her about the superiority of club law, about how being an ol’ lady means more than any fucking piece of paper signed for Uncle Sam ever could. But I can’t exactly back that claim up these days, can I? So I say nothing, and neither does she.
I try again. “Have you seen Molly recently?”
“Yeah,” Marissa says with a fond smile. “She told me they’re moving to Phoenix.”
Molly is Prez’s first kid, and she’s a senior at the high school where Marissa works. Prez was only 17 when he had her. Unfortunately, during the pregnancy, he cheated on Molly’s mom with Angie, who then went on to become his ol’ lady.
