Chapter Thirteen
Nun-Ya Business
Cheyenne
Microwave popcorn doesn’t set off the smoke alarm this morning. For one, no one makes microwave popcorn for breakfast, and two, I had to go and make it original by burning pancakes to activate the alarm.
“Is there a fire?” Milo asks. He kneels on his stool at the kitchen island, and his face lights up like an alarm isn’t currently trying to split our ears. “Are there gonna be fire trucks?!”
“No,” Indi says, snapping a dish towel to try and clear the smoke. “Cheyenne just burned the pancakes a little.”
I wince, partially from the alarm Colton’s trying to disable and partially from Indi downplaying the situation. I didn’t just burn the pancakes a little. I burned them so badly that you could pick one up, tap it on the quartz countertop, and it would sound like a rock.
“That’s an understatement,” I tell her.
Indi only shrugs and continues waving the anchor-dotted dish towel. “Colton, what the heck is taking you so long to disable that alarm? You’re, like, ten feet tall standing on that chair. I’m beginning to lose hearing in my left eye.”
Colton keeps prodding the smoke detector with the meat thermometer I grabbed, his t-shirt riding up just enough to tease at the skin beneath its hem. He ignores his sister completely.
Eager to be part of the conversation, Milo claps his hands over his eyes. “I can’t hear out of my eyes anymore!”
Despite myself, I smile. And then, seconds later, blessed silence fills the kitchen.
“You try disabling a smoke alarm and then report back to me,” Colton tells Indi. “That wasn’t so bad though, was it?”
“If you consider premature deafness not so bad ,” Indi says dryly, “then it was a breeze.”
My mouth twitches. “Sorry about that, guys. I’ll mix up another batch quick.”
“Inni doesn’t know how to cook either,” Milo offers unabashedly, grinning when his sister shoots him a look. “What? You don’t.”
“Then it looks like Milo’s in charge of meals,” Colton says lightly. He flips the chair back around to push under the table and taps the meat thermometer against his lips. “What do you think we should call it, ladies? Meals With Milo?”
Indi strokes her chin contemplatively. “What about Milo’s Meals?”
“Made by Milo?” I offer. On the outside I’m smiling, but inwardly, I feel like I’m two seconds away from a breakdown. I turn back to the griddle and scoop charred pancakes onto a plastic plate.
Milo laughs. “I’m only four!”
“But have you ever set off a smoke alarm?” Indi asks.
My grip tightens around the rubber spatula handle until my knuckles turn white.
“Well,” Milo says, and I know he’s grinning, “no.”
“There you have it,” Colton says in his best announcer’s voice. “You’re hired!”
Clearing my throat, I lighten my tone and say, “I’m gonna take these outside so the kitchen won’t smell. Then I’ll get new ones made.”
I make it to the trash can at the end of the driveway before my emotions get the best of me. I don’t know how to turn the waterworks off after the other day. Just like when I lost my baby, and when my marriage began failing, and when my career fell in shambles around me, I’m struggling to see where I fit.
Colton could have just asked Indi to be with Milo this summer. Why I thought I was the right person for this is astonishingly selfish. Colton didn’t ask me to insert myself back into his life when I called him after Dad’s accident last December, let alone when his life is up in the air. But that’s exactly what I did.
Indi is waiting for me when I turn back to the porch. She’s barefoot, she wears a matching satin pajama set, and she’s sitting in the middle of the stairs. I either have to talk to her or pretend I didn’t see her while I walk by (which is impossible).
“I know what you’re thinking,” she says crisply. Her eyes are just as perceptive as Colton’s when they meet mine. “That you messed up and you don’t think you deserve to be here and blah, blah, blah.”
I open my mouth, then close it again. How does she—
“You were muttering to yourself under your breath,” she explains, a little boredly.
Oh. I turn the now-empty plate in my hands, trying to think of what to say. Mentioning the weather probably wouldn’t do any good—especially because it’s an ideal morning following last night’s turbulence. Clear skies and balmy humidity, promising a perfect June day.
Indi pats the wooden step next to her. “Sit. Colton is mixing up another batch of pancakes with Milo as his sous chef.”
“I should—”
“Sit,” she repeats, firmer this time.
It’s more demand than suggestion, so I slowly lower down next to her. Cool morning air presses welcomely at my perspiring neck, and in the conversation lull, I take in my surroundings.
I smile at the robins frolicking in puddles at the end of the driveway from last night’s storm. I wave at someone in a Kia as they drive by, even though they probably wonder why two blonde women are sitting on the stairs in their pajamas instead of the porch swing. I let soft sunshine bathe my face in warm light that feels like it sinks deeply into my pores.
“He’ll sense it, you know.” Indi breaks the silence a couple minutes later. “Milo. He might only be four, but if he thinks for one second that you don’t want to be here, he’ll know.”
“It’s not that I don’t want to be here, Indi.” Not by a long shot. I catch a rogue tendril of hair and tuck it back behind my ear. “It’s that—”
“You don’t think you deserve to be,” she finishes drolly. “Yeah, yeah. I know. Welcome to the club; we meet on Thursdays and commiserate over the lack of belonging in our lives.”
I don’t know how to respond to that. I feel like Indi will have a comeback to counteract me no matter what I say.
It reminds me of the girl I used to be. The one who painted sunset canvases in the sunroom and accepted Colton’s dare to jump in the freezing lake on Memorial Day Weekend.
“Tell me something,” she continues. “Did he or did he not ask you to read with him yesterday?”
“Well, yes, but—”
“Kids aren’t like adults, Cheyenne,” she interrupts. “They don’t tally up reasons this person could hurt them or think about how that person might leave them. To us, that would be a curse. To them, it’s a gift. Burnt pancakes lead you into a spiral of self-doubt and anxiety. Burnt pancakes to Milo mean laughter because Colton can’t shut the alarm off with a meat thermometer and none of us, hypothetically, know how to cook, so he has to take over. It’s all about perspective.”
I don’t say anything. I don’t know what to say.
“I’ve never had a real, present mom, and neither has Colton,” she says. “But from what my brother has told me, you do. You’re the only one who can bring that to the table. So maybe you think you’re not needed, but this is me telling you that you are. Both of those boys need you, Cheyenne, and don’t you dare think I’m flattering you. I don’t say things I don’t mean. Ever.”
This makes me laugh. I don’t think she’s lying. I tap my thumb against the edge of the plate. “For what it’s worth, the boys need you, too. Not just the two who could be seconds away from burning this house down—”
“At least we’re already outside.”
“—but the others too,” I continue, fighting a smile. “Sam, Jordan, and Graham. All five of them need you. Jordan doesn’t act like he does, but trust me, he loves you.”
Indi scoffs. “Flattery gets you nowhere.”
Before I can tell her I’m being serious, the front door flaps open. Milo runs out onto the porch, barefoot and holding a spatula. I hear the alarm and, with a smile over my shoulder, I take in Colton. Standing on the same chair with the same meat thermometer, the same tease of bare abdomen between his shorts and shirt hem.
“We burned the pancakes too!” Milo announces, much too gleefully. He drapes himself over Indi’s shoulders from behind. “Isn’t that awesome?”
“ Awesome?” Indi repeats incredulously, turning to pull her brother onto her lap. He giggles when she tickles his exposed belly after his shirt rides up and swats at her arm with the spatula. “If you think this little jelly belly of yours going hungry is awesome , then yes. It’s fantastic. Amazing! Fan-freaking-tacular!”
Milo’s shriek is loud enough to rival the alarm. He writhes away from his sister, holding his arms out to me with a lopsided smile. “Help, Annie! The tickle monster is mean!”
My mind is too slow to register much. It’s stuck on Indi’s words and that tease of Colton’s abdomen, but instinct kicks in. I pull Milo onto my lap and find my sternest expression, because Indi is staring at me with an I told you you were needed expression.
“I command, in the name of Auntie Annie’s Pretzels—” Indi snorts with laughter at this, and I wave my hands mystically “—that the Tickle Monster leaves Milo alone!”
Indi looks let down by my intimidation attempt. “Yeahhh, no, that is…” She shakes her head, squints at me, and sighs. “I should tickle you for such a weak threat.”
“Yeah!” Milo bounces enthusiastically on my lap. “Tickle Annie!”
“Please don’t,” Colton says. He walks through the front door with the griddle in his hands, and past us down the stairs. “She will scream, and if you think the fire alarm was bad, I promise you her scream is ten times worse.”
Indi grins wickedly at me. “How does he know that?”
I am absolutely not about to tell Colton’s little sister that he used to tickle me until I nearly peed my pants. Nor that he knows my most ticklish spot is right between my belly button and the curve of my waist.
I ignore her question and frown at Colton’s retreating back. “What are you doing with that griddle?”
“This griddle,” he says, lifting the appliance like it has personally offended him, “is a safety threat to persons and property. It’s going in the trash. Tell your grandmother I’ll buy a new one so that some old hen doesn’t drive by and jump to some crazy conclusion. Then get in the car. Breakfast is on me today, courtesy of the coffee shop.”
“Uh,” Indi says, eying my pajamas and hers, “we’re not dressed.”
Colton opens the rear passenger door of my Bronco and looks at us blankly. “So?”
Milo scrambles down from my lap and laughs when Colton swings him around before putting him in the vehicle. The gesture makes my skin prickle with awareness. We mutually agreed to put Milo’s booster seat in my car, and Colton would pick up a second one if necessary. But I hadn’t really thought of Colton putting Milo in my car. The gesture seems so…domestic.
I bump my shoulder against Indi’s. “Welcome to Colton’s spontaneous side. It’s his most natural state, so I recommend getting used to it.” I lower my voice. “Lucky for us, though, the coffee shop has a no shoes, no shirt, no problem policy. Barefoot in the summer is ideal anyway.”
Indi shakes her head as she stands. “Would your grandmother actually drive by and see the griddle in the trash? What, is it illegal to get rid of something like that?”
“My grandmother?” I say, smiling. “No. But one of her friends might. It’s not illegal either, no. But what better things do they have to do than speculate on why so and so discarded what looks like a perfectly good appliance?”
“Small towns,” she says decidedly, “are quirky.”
Colton leans over in the passenger seat to honk the horn dramatically. Through the bug-spotted windshield, I see Milo crack up in the backseat. If Colton had blond hair, or Milo had dark hair, I’d think they were truly father and son. Not just looks-wise, but their mannerisms and personalities are eerily similar.
“For the record,” I tell Indi, linking my arm through hers, “small lake towns are the quirkiest.”
Indi laughs like she can’t tell if I’m serious, but she hops into the backseat of my Bronco as Colton is telling Milo a knock- knock joke about nuns. When he says the punchline—nun, who? nun-ya business —Milo absolutely loses it to the giggles, even though he likely doesn’t understand the joke. I shake my head, and Indi asks if that’s the best Colton’s got. Moments later, we pile into the coffee shop, laughing at Colton’s ridiculously cheesy jokes.
Barefoot and in pajamas, we continue laughing over buttery blueberry muffins until both our bellies and hearts are full.
“We do not need Lucky Charms,” Indi tells Milo an hour and a half later.
Colton decided to stay at the lake house so he could take care of some things. Indi, Milo, and I headed right back downtown, this time for groceries. I brought what I had from my apartment when I moved, but with the boys, a few vegetables, cereal, and enough ground beef for one won’t last a day.
Now we’re standing in the middle of the cereal aisle, Milo and Indi in a standoff over Lucky Charms. Sam’s favorite cereal, ironically.
“But why?” Sitting in the largest part of the cart, Milo blinks up at Indi. Then, with a grin, he holds up three fingers. “I need three reasons.”
I pretend to find the oatmeal display explicitly fascinating while trying to stifle my laughter.
“That rule is really only for me when you—Ugh. Never mind.” Indi pulls the smallest box of Lucky Charms from the shelf and points at Milo. “If your skin turns green or blue or red from the food dyes, that’s on you.”
Milo cackles and carefully sets the box next to him in the cart. Colton would probably grab at least three more boxes when I’m not looking, and by the time we finished shopping, the cart would be full of items we do not need.
“Hey, Milo, can you smile for a quick picture?” I pull my phone from my tote bag. “We’ll send it to Colton. I need to see if he wants anything.”
“I bet he likes Lucky Charms,” Milo says smugly to Indi. To me, he smiles in a way that looks cute on a child but would be considered feral on an adult. Eyes squeezed closed, nose wrinkled, teeth bared.
I send it to Colton. Anything you want from Falls Market while we’re here?
He replies instantly: Looks like you’ve already got the necessities
A second text comes through a moment later: I’m going to see your dad, and Graham asked me to meet him for lunch. I’ll try to be back by around one or so
No rus h , I type back. My thumbs hover over the keyboard. I chew on my lip while Indi pushes the cart toward the produce section. Tell Dad hi for me, will you?
Absolutel y , he replies. A link comes through. Listen to this at some point before I get back. It’s for your Choose Happy playlist
I tap the link. It opens to Love Myself by Andy Grammar in Spotify.
I don’t have a Choose Happy playlis t , I say.
You didn’ t , he says back, but now you do.
And by the way , he adds , if you think for one more second that you’re not needed this summer, I will personally tickle you until you call Uncle and promise not to think that anymore. Got it?
Laughing, I reply, Got it.