Chapter 6 #2
“Lainey! Grayson!” Josephine yells, waving to a little girl with bright blonde hair and a much taller boy with darker brown hair. She tugs my hand. “Daddy, that’s Lainey and Grayson! They’re in my class!” To her friends, she says, “Want to paint?”
Lainey grabs Josephine’s hand, and the girls dart toward the stairs with another girl around their age. Ivy, I think Shayla said is her name. Grayson tries to follow, but Lainey suddenly whirls on him and kicks his shin. “No boys allowed!”
“Dangit, Devilainey,” Grayson says, hopping on one leg, rubbing his shin beneath his athletic shorts. “I’m telling Dad you kicked me!” She shrieks, too short and slow to avoid Grayson’s lengthy reach when he yanks one of her pigtails.
“Stop calling me that!” Lainey gives him another kick, sticks her tongue out, and then the girls race upstairs with a round of giggles.
I can’t help smiling at their antics. Having been an only child, I’ve always been envious of those with a bunch of siblings, though I do feel bad for Grayson, who drops down on the gray tweed couch to sulk with his arms crossed.
Autumn jabs me in my side, and I make the most humiliating squeal of surprise. “See, I told you they’d have fun,” she says.
Even Sebastian has turned around in Autumn’s arms, drawn by the younger children, his face dry of tears. He kicks his feet to be let down and joins a slightly older boy who is building towers out of a large set of wooden blocks.
My shoulders loosen, and I lightly rest my hand on Autumn’s lower back, bending a little so she can hear me. “Good call.”
“Interesting. Very interesting,” Bailey says, rubbing her large baby bump, one generous hip cocked to the side. Her silvery-blue eyes lack the ethereal quality that Autumn’s have. “You know Shayla babysat for James, so he was technically her boss too.”
I did not know that. I drop my hand and step away when Autumn gives Bailey the middle finger and says, “Shut up. It’s not like that.”
“You owe the jar another two dollars for that middle finger,” Shayla says to Autumn with a huff before turning away when a child calls for their mom.
Eden and Miranda rejoin us, carrying two trays wrapped in aluminum foil. “Do you mind taking these with you?” Miranda asks.
My stomach does this weird little twist. As much as I’d been looking forward to game night earlier, I find myself wishing I could stay here, with Autumn and all the crazy kids.
The house is warm and heavily spiced from the hot, home-cooked meals.
It’s so cozy and exactly what I imagined holidays would be like with a large family, and my chest aches for what I’ve never had.
Never will have, now that both my parents are gone, and it is exceedingly likely that the boys will grow up to hate me, a poor substitute for their real dad.
But I say, “Sure,” and pass Benjamin and the diaper bag to Autumn so I can take the trays.
“Have fun, BigDawg,” Autumn says with a snort, walking away, making my stomach twist that much harder.
I’d have a lot more fun with you, I immediately think, no matter how many sarcastic jabs or narrowed eyes she’d throw at me. All kinds of fun. My feet drag when I cross the street toward the Fischer household.
“Forest! Glad you could make it,” Sherman says from the right side of the house at the top of the driveway, wrenching me from my thoughts, the garage door open behind him. “Come in, come in, and meet the crew.”
It’s pleasantly surprising to find I’m not missing out on the whole family gathering atmosphere, what with the large gaming group Sherman has assembled, seated at a plastic picnic table in the middle of the garage.
Another table boasts numerous potluck dishes along with coolers of beer and soda that the rest of the crew brought.
I’ve already had second helpings of the blueberry pie Autumn made earlier.
Also surprising—how put out I’ve been that the others have each had a slice of it too. I want her pie all to myself.
When the guys all get together next weekend to watch the kids while the women go out—it’s tit for tat, I’ve been assured—maybe I can convince Autumn to make another pie that I can hide at my house so no one else can get their hands on it. I’ll even pay her to do so. She’ll love that.
This group is just as loud, not at all self-conscious, when they adopt outlandish accents and voices for their characters, as we throw the polyhedral dice and move our pieces around the game board.
Eden’s husband, Martin, has untamed, red curls and perhaps the most preternaturally deep voice known to mankind.
It makes sense why he has exploded in popularity as an audiobook narrator.
It’s like meeting a real-life celebrity, and I admit, I’m a little star-struck…
which greatly embarrasses the otherwise painfully shy man as his medieval knight slaughters his way out of the ambush that attacked our camp.
“Your turn,” Autumn’s younger brother, Brady, says to me.
Funnily enough, because of the age difference between the Fischer siblings, he’s closer to his niece’s and nephew’s ages and attends the same elementary school as Josephine.
He’s just as intense and laser-focused on the game as the rest of us adults, though.
Taking a page out of everyone’s book, I up my terrible, fake British accent to say, “Aha! It’s my favorite time in the game. I roll an investigation check to loot the bodies!”
I do a double-take when I catch Sherman grinning broadly as he watches me with something almost feverish in his eyes, leaning forward with his elbows on the table.
“Uh, are you okay? Did you—do you need your, uh, pills?” I cringe terribly inside to have brought up his medical issues, in case he’s intensely private about his health.
He laughs instead of getting offended. “Not unless Autumn pops out and finds some new way to torment me.”
“I know exactly what you mean,” I say, relaxing back in my metal folding chair.
Sherman lifts his brows. “Don’t tell me she’s giving you trouble at work. If so, I’ll talk to her.”
Huh. So maybe Autumn hasn’t complained about me. “No, no, nothing like that.” The last thing I want is to unload on my boss, like a tattletale who can’t manage his one employee, just two weeks into the job. I don’t want Sherman to regret hiring me.
“Good, good.” Sherman takes a swig of his soda, so I do the same with my beer, glad to move on from talk about work.
I can’t remember the last time I was able to let loose a little and have a beer. After tonight, chances are good that Sherman won’t be as icy with me when we get back to work on Monday. Phew.
“You know Autumn?” Shayla’s husband, James, asks, tipping his beer up, his long black hair a shaggy mess. He’s the only one in the group who is as skinny as me.
Sherman appraises his son-in-law with concern, not for the first time. “Already told you twice that Forest works at the firm. He’s Autumn’s direct supervisor.”
“Right, right. I forgot.” James yawns, likely as exhausted as I am, as I’m sure the infant Shayla was feeding isn’t yet sleeping through the night. As if he can read minds, James says to me in commiseration, “I haven’t slept in ten years. Daddy-brain, am I right?”
“God help you, Forest. Autumn’s stubbornness gives Bailey a run for her money,” Isaiah says, pushing his large, square-rimmed glasses up his nose as we take a break when Brady gets up to use the restroom.
“But at least she’s not a schemer.” Isaiah shudders and scratches the back of his dark brown neck, beneath his high-cut fade.
“You wouldn’t stand a chance against her if she were. I didn’t.”
“A schemer, how?” I ask, thinking of Autumn’s fake sniffing, coughing, and plugging her nose. Is that what he’s talking about?
Martin laughs so deeply that I can feel the vibrations through the concrete floor.
Sherman grumbles a bizarre response that in no way answers my question, saying simply, “Miranda’s homemade pies.”
“It’s the babysitting that was the cherry on top for me,” James says.
Sherman shoots him a look of displeasure, of which James seems oblivious, yawning again.
Cherry on top of what? Why does Sherman care that Shayla used to babysit Grayson before they got married?
What does Miranda’s baking have to do with anything?
I’m so lost, as are the two other members of our group, a married couple named Mara and Ezra, who sit back with matching expressions of confusion.
“And those tight, man-killing, trouble-making dresses Bailey designs,” Isaiah adds, shaking his head slowly with a drawn-out whistle.
Sherman scowls, slightly green in the face.
“Does Bailey make Autumn’s dresses?” I ask Isaiah, trying to keep up with the conversation.
“She makes them for all the girls and their mother.” Isaiah drops his chin and says seriously, “They ought to be illegal, what those dresses make us want to do.”
“Agreed,” I say quietly, pulling up the mental image of Autumn’s dress riding up her bare thighs when she sat in the grass, her large breasts spilling from the low neckline. She might not be sweet with me, but her dresses sure are. Man-killing, trouble-making indeed.
Sherman sucks his teeth, and I freeze like a deer in headlights. Why the hell did I mention Autumn’s apparel in front of her dad, who has the power to fire me without notice? I have no business looking twice at his daughter.
When Brady strides through the side door that connects the house to the attached garage after using the restroom, Sherman clutches his chest and tells his son, “Run back inside and grab my pills. These boys are going to give me a heart attack.”
The men and I head across the street when we call it a night.
I haven’t had this much fun in ages, and I’m already counting down the days until the next game night.
It’s Isaiah’s turn to host next, his home conveniently located only a few streets away.
Moving to this smaller city, so far, has turned out to be as good as I’d hoped it would be.
With the pop music turned up loud, the women don’t hear us walk in, and I catch Autumn completely unguarded.
Barefoot and holding Benjamin, she hops and dances in circles with Sebastian and the other toddlers.
She knows all the lyrics as she sings at the top of her lungs with Josephine, Lainey, and Ivy.
Benjamin claps his hands out of rhythm, giggling like crazy.
I stop in my tracks so abruptly that Isaiah collides with my back with an ooph, making me stumble over my feet, sending me sprawling on the floor. Everyone, including Autumn, stops and stares. Oh god, kill me now.
“My bad,” Isaiah says, pushing his glasses up and helping me to stand.
Autumn’s carefree expression has shuttered, and she clears her throat, straightening her spine. God only knows how much she’s going to tease me for this too.
Thankfully, I don’t have to face her just yet, because Josephine comes running and grabs my hand, tugging me toward the kitchen with all her strength. There’s hardly an inch of the kitchen tabletop visible beneath all the kids’ art supplies, coloring books, slime, and air-dry clay sculptures.
“Look what we made!” she shouts, though the music has since been turned down, and she presents me with her brightly painted sketchpad. “Autumn did the house and trees, but I did all of us!”
Autumn hadn’t been exaggerating when she’d told Josephine that she’s incredibly talented.
There’s no mistaking who the people are, with Benjamin and me on the left, holding hands with Josephine in the middle, who’s holding hands with Autumn and Sebastian on the right.
If one didn’t know better, they’d guess that we’re a family.
“It’s beautiful,” I tell Josephine, my voice thick with rising emotion.
In all her previous paintings, it’s always been just the two of us.
She flips the page to a new one where she’d started sketching out her and her friends, and I’m swept away on a tidal wave of gratefulness that these people have taken us in.
Moving here was the right decision. Autumn might fray my nerves like no other, and I’m more than a little wary of her father, but she and her family have been a huge blessing when it comes to my kids.
I don’t know how I’ll ever repay her for that.
Autumn smiles as she shuffles to my side, her eyes twinkling with warmth and affection, when Josephine throws her arms around us, then takes off to find her friends.
“Lainey and Ivy told her that their moms are taking them to get mother-daughter mani-pedis tomorrow, and they invited her along,” Autumn says, tickling Benjamin’s cheek.
“She asked me if I would go, and when I said yes, she got really excited and said that everyone will think I’m her mom.
” At this, her brows pinch with worry. “Then she painted this, and said she wants to hang it above her bed.”
I set my hands on my hips, distant alarm bells ringing in my head. “This might be a bad idea.”
Autumn chews the inside of her cheek. “Should I tell her I can’t go?”
I don’t know what the right answer is, and we turn to watch Josephine, whose face is animated with delight as she talks with her friends. “No,” I eventually say. “She’s never had a best friend or been able to do all the ‘girly’ things before—not to sound sexist or anything,” I rush to say.
“You’re fine. I know what you mean.”
My shoulders relax a fraction. “I think it would mean a lot to her, if you don’t mind.”
“Of course I don’t.”
“Really?” I ask, lifting my brows.
“It’ll be fun,” she says with a shrug. “She’s a sweet kid.”
My happy little girl is bouncing on her toes while Lainey begs her mother to allow Ivy and Josephine to sleep over next weekend—which I will, without hesitation, say yes to. “Thank you for…what you’ve done for my kids.” I get a little choked up when I tell Autumn, “It means the world to me.”
Autumn nods, her head brushing my chest. I don’t know if she realizes just how close we’re standing to each other, with Benjamin nodding off on her shoulder, whereas it’s all I’m aware of.
My arm flexes with the urge to run my fingers through the angel’s hair, then rest my hand on the gentle curve of her hip.
The kids aren’t the only ones already growing attached to her much too fast, and the alarm bells ring louder.