by M. E. Carter
The door finally swings open, and my jaw does the same when I take in my big brother’s appearance.
“Do not. Say. A word,” he growls at me, eyes narrowed.
Julie tries hard to stifle her giggles next to me, but Oli blurts out what everyone else is thinking. “Why do you have bows in your hair, Uncle Jack?”
He hrmphs and opens the door wider to let us in. “Because somehow I got suckered into babysitting a bunch of little girls who have nothing better to do than play fucking hair dresser.”
Joie comes around the corner already chastising him. “Watch your mouth with kids in the house. And quit complaining. You sound like a grumpy old man. Don’t even try to convince me you aren’t loving it as much as they are.”
In the distance, I hear giggling. A lot of giggling.
“How many little girls did you end up with anyway?” I ask Joie as we embrace in a quick hug.
“All of them. And what is this? You didn’t have to bring anything,” she gently chides as she takes the supplies for my famous fruit salad out of my hand and turns toward the kitchen. Or at least, I assume that’s where we’re heading. The floor plan is a little more closed off than I expected, but it’s still nice in here. The living room itself is huge.
“It’s no big deal. It’s a super easy fruit salad.”
“Well thank you. We’re only ordering pizza so at least I can feel like I’m giving the girls something healthy. Anyway,” she continues with our original conversation, “you knew we had Elena’s three girls for a few days, right?”
I nod because Jack had mentioned it the other day. Elena’s ex-husband was none-too-pleased she was getting married to Joie’s brother, Greg, and refused to help out by taking his own kids for the week so they could go on a honeymoon. Not a shock. I know too many women who have those kinds of ex-husbands.
“Elena’s mother will take over on Monday, but she found out about her fortieth high school reunion after all the wedding plans were made, and we didn’t want her to miss it. It’s too important. We offered to take my three new nieces while she’s out of town. It seemed to work out for everyone.”
“Everyone except Jack, who has turned into the World’s Ugliest Barbie Doll,” I jest, making Joie laugh.
“You know he’s a big softy. He likes to complain.”
“Don’t I know it. So you have three little girls here. Wow.”
“Four.”
“Four?”
She nods. “All four. Libby is only a parent when she feels like it, that’s Greg’s ex-wife, so I’m not surprised, and her mom basically raises Peyton. But her mom got really sick yesterday and called to ask if we could take her. Speaking of… we probably need to peek in and check on them. They’re awfully quiet all of a sudden.”
I follow her out of the kitchen and down the hall, picking up a bright colored children’s book that was clearly discarded on its way down the hall. “Travis’s Troubles” I read to myself. Flipping it over, the synopsis on the back catches my eye.
Travis has lots of good in his life, but sometimes he has trouble making the right choice.
“Looks like someone has been writing books about my son,” I snigger to myself.
Catching up to Joie, I say, “I feel bad Peyton’s grandma is sick.”
She shrugs. “I’m sure she’ll be fine. I think Libby was a late-in-life baby, which makes sense as to why she grew up to be an entitled brat. I think being the main caretaker for a toddler, even her own grandbaby, wears her out.”
Walking through the doorway, I see what used to be Jack’s man cave. But from the amount of crafts, baby dolls, and nasty cheap nail polish, I would say there’s too much estrogen in here to call it that again. I also don’t feel bad for tossing the book on the shelf. There’s going to be a lot of “Clean Up, Clean Up” later on.
“She’s a nice lady,” Joie continues. “Too bad her daughter is such a witch.”
“Let’s play witches, Aunt Joie! I need a witch hat!” One of the girls yells, her blonde ringlets bobbing up and down as she bounces. I can see why Joie agreed to watch this many kids at once. They’re precious.
Joie smiles fondly at the girl. “That’s a great idea, Maura! I bet you can make a witch’s hat out of some black paper and the stapler,” she says handing over the supplies, much to the girls’ delight. Very quickly, they’re all sitting on the floor trying to figure out how to imitate Joie rolling up the black paper just enough to make it a cone shape.
“Aunt Joie?” the oldest one of the bunch asks, eyes never leaving her craft. “When is Uncle Jack coming back? We want to paint his finger nails.”
Joie’s face lights up mischievously, and I can already tell she’s keeping my brother on his toes. It’s a good thing too. He has such a weird sense of humor. It’s nice knowing he found someone who can keep up with him.
Joie puts her hands on her hips and cocks out her knee. “I think that’s a great idea. I’m gonna go get Uncle Jack right now.”
“I’m right here,” he says from the doorway, looking resigned to being back on mannequin duty. I, on the other hand, am very happy by this turn of events. Who doesn’t love when the big brother who used to put bugs in her hair finally gets his payback in the form of pink strawberry-scented nails? “But I brought someone with me.”
Julie comes in, her smile bright and the girls immediately forget their crafts and gravitate toward her. She sits on the floor, criss-cross applesauce much to their delight, and my and Joie’s disappointment.
“Hi, I’m Julie. What are you playing?” The girls immediately clamor around her, one trying to sit on her lap, another one picking up brightly-colored beauty items to show her. Before I know it, one of them is brushing her hair and another is putting blue eye shadow on her. Badly, at that. It’s like watching little monkeys climb all over the mama monkey at the zoo.
“Oh man. I was having too much fun seeing all the latest male fashions,” Joie says under her breath and then turns to Jack. “I guess you’re off the hook.”
“Thank god.” He yanks the barrettes out of his hair, grimacing when one of them doesn’t let completely go of a strand. “And thank Julie for always keeping her nose stuck in a book instead of a glamour magazine. I can’t believe I’ve never gotten suckered into this before. You’re my favorite, Julie!” he yells over my shoulder.
“I know!” she calls back, not even flinching as stubby little fingers twist strands of her hair around some fake curling device.
“Aw,” Joie patronizes, patting his arm. “You do realize Isaac is almost old enough to have one of his own. Pretty soon, you’ll be Grandpa Jack!”
“You are an evil, evil woman,” he says before kissing her on the lips.
“Where’d Oli go?” I ask, as we make our way back to the kitchen. I need to get started on the fruit salad I brought.
“I set him up on the Xbox.” Jack tosses more bows on the counter and runs his fingers through his hair. He missed one in the back, but none of us seem too keen on telling him about it. “I’m sure he’s playing some random game I’ll never be able to figure out.”
“Wait, what?” The smile on my face isn’t reaching my eyes. “He’s playing video games?”
Jack’s posture immediately changes. “Was I not supposed to do that? I thought it was only his tablet he couldn’t get until nighttime.”
I sigh and realize this is one of those times I need to just let it go. “No, no. It’s okay. I’ve been limiting his electronics by a lot lately. I’ve been reading about electronics addiction in children, and he has every single marker.”
“You can be addicted to electronics?” Joie asks when we get to the kitchen. “Like really, truly addicted?”
Unloading the supplies, I get distracted momentarily. “Do you have a big bowl I can use?”
“Yeah sure.” She reaches under the counter and grabs one for me as we chat.
“Thanks. As it turns out,” I say, getting back to the topic at hand, “just like some people are pre-dispo
sed to having the alcoholism gene, others are pre-disposed to having an electronics addiction gene. I don’t really get why or where it comes from, but it’s apparently a thing. People, particularly children, get obsessed with various forms of electronics and it begins to affect their ability to function. All those things you think of when it comes to a drug addict, that’s basically what happens to Oli. I'm really trying to limit it. It’s not realistic to keep it away from him completely. But if I can give him his ’fix’ once a day, it helps curb his behaviors. It’s like incentive to act right.”
“Oh shit,” Jack mutters. “I’m sorry. I can get him off the Xbox if I need to.”
“No, wait, don’t,” I interrupt quickly. “There are four little girls in this house who don’t need to see one of his epic meltdowns. The electronics will be a good distraction for him now. I’ll just deal with the fallout later.”
Not that I want to, but in this situation, it’s the better of the two choices.
“I’m sorry, Greer,” Jack apologizes again. “I didn’t even realize. I feel stupid.”
“Don’t beat yourself up about it. I learn new things about Oli every day. You never know what the next thing we’re going to pinpoint is. It just happens to be electronics this time. But honestly, I think his new job is helping him.”
Joie watches closely as I dump the frozen fruit into the bowl, pouring the French vanilla coffee creamer over the top of it and mix.
“Wait, I wanna hear about Oli’s job in a minute.” She holds up her finger to stop us and stares into the bowl, fascinated by what I’m doing. “But what is that? Is that dessert?”
“You can definitely use it as dessert. I usually don’t, but you can.”
“And that’s all it is. Two ingredients?”
“Two ingredients.”
She claps her hands excitedly. “Jack! I think we finally found something I can make.”
“I don’t know, babe.” He doesn’t appear convinced. “I have this bad feeling you’d still be able to screw it up.”
She smacks him on the arm as he snatches a frozen strawberry out of the bowl in and pops it in his mouth. “Oh shit, that’s cold,” he mumbles around the berry while sucking in a breath.
“Uh yeah. It’s frozen,” I say, sounding more like “duh”.
“Serves ya right,” Joie says. “That’s what you get for making fun of me.”
He smacks her on the ass as he makes his way out the door, presumably to hang out with Oli for a bit. I know he likes spending time with his nephew and really does see himself as a pseudo-father figure. But I’m not fooled. Mostly Jack’s hiding from the gaggle of little girls who are armed with hair spray and combs.
“Okay, back to the other topic. How is Oli’s job going?” Joie leans a hip on the counter and crosses her arms.
“I think it’s going well,” I respond honestly. “We had some trouble at first with the new routine, and he doesn’t like being told no, especially when it comes to animals.”
“Mmm… The dreaded ‘n’ word no kid ever wants to hear.”
“It’s really true,” I admit, “and with his emotional intellect being around eight years of age, I know he can get really frustrated.”
“He’s emotionally only eight?”
“Yeah, that seems to be the age he gravitates toward in public. He always wants to play with the kids, which makes him look creepy.”
Joie giggles, making me smile. “I’m sure it can.”
I shrug. “I guess it goes with the territory. I’ve had to explain the situation to a few parents, but usually once they know what’s going on, they’re okay with him playing. Can you only imagine what they first think when this seventeen-year-old kid comes barreling up wanting to play Pokémon with all the third graders?”
“He’ll find his place. Sounds like his job is already helping with that.”
“Yeah. Ace picked up on Oli’s love of cows, so they moved him over to what they call the milking parlor. And he seems to be doing really well there.”
“Ace?” she asks.
I clear my throat. “Grayson Whitman. He runs the program. Most everyone calls him Ace.”
Joie pauses long enough that I start to feel like I’m missing something. Looking over at her, she’s making a face. Like she knows something.
I narrow my eyes. “What? Did I accidentally spit in the fruit salad?”
Please say I spit in the fruit salad.
“I think someone might have a little crush on teacher.”
I gasp. “I have no such cru—”
I don’t bother finishing my sentence when she gives me a “mom” look. I know that one. I use it on my own kids, quirked eyebrow and all. I’m busted, and there’s nothing I can do about it.
“Fine.” As much as I don’t want to have this uncomfortable conversation, I will admit, it’s fun having some girl talk. I didn’t have many girlfriends in Kansas after Neil’s arrest. People tend to distance themselves from you when you’re under federal investigation, so it was no surprise. And realistically, I didn’t have the time or energy to be a good friend during that stage of our lives, so it was kind of a blessing. Plus, it appears I’ve been busted by Joie and there’s nothing I can do about it except thank my lucky stars Jack isn’t standing here. He used to be the biggest brat when I would go out on dates. I doubt that’s changed. I’m hoping Joie won’t be as obnoxious. A little womanly advice might be nice. “He’s a little bit handsome. And he gets along with the kids really well.”
“And do you know if he’s single?”
I press my lips together before finally answering quickly. “Maybe.”
It’s Joie’s turn to gasp. “He asked you out, didn’t he?”
Whipping around, I stare at her in disbelief. “Ohmygod, are you a mind reader? How did you know that?”
She steps forward, way too excited by my news. “I could tell by the look on your face. You’re easy to read. Are you going to go?”
“I told him yes,” I begin, her squealing excitedly, “but I think I’m going to cancel.”
Her face falls. “Why wouldn’t you go out with him?” She sounds sad. Like she’s just as invested in my dating life as I am.
“I don’t know.” I turn back to the fruit salad, even though I don’t need to actually stir anymore. At least it keeps my hands busy. “I just… dating me is a lot.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“I mean, I’m a package deal, ya know? I have an ex-husband who is in prison. I have a special needs teenager. I have—”
She interrupts before I can finish. “—a successful business. Your own home. Your own money. Your own independence. So what? So you come with a little extra baggage. Everyone does.”
“Yeah, but Joie, it’s a lot to take on Oli. Remember how nervous you were when you first met him?”
She regards the floor sheepishly. “But then I asked questions and got to know him, and I love him now. He’s difficult, but we all have parts of us that are difficult.”
“That’s a lot of parts, Joie.”
She steps forward and takes my hand, clasping it between hers. “And Greer, this guy already takes on Oli several times a week. Voluntarily.”
I bite my lip. She makes a really good point. “But what if it goes bad?”
She shrugs. “What if it does?”
“You don’t think that would negatively impact Oli?”
“You planning on moving out to the farm any time soon?”
“No,” I say rolling my eyes. “But someday, what if?”
“Greer you can’t think about the somedays. You can’t. I learned the hard way with your brother. Be honest about your life when you first start dating, but also be honest with your kids. You deserve to go out on a date. And if that’s all it ends up being, you went, had a good time, explored the town—no harm, no foul. And if it does go somewhere, you take it one day at a time.”
The doorbell rings at this exact moment, giving me a chance to absorb what she’s said.
High-pitched cheers come from the back room and a low-pitched squeal comes from the front room making me chuckle. Oli does love his pizza.
“Come on.” Joie puts her arm around my shoulder and guides me to the front of the house. “You can think about it later. Let’s go wrangle up these kids and get them fed.”
And by wrangle, she means herding a bunch of feral cats.
The blast of cool air as I walk in makes me shiver. I don’t mind working in the heat. I’ve been doing it all my life, so I’m used it, but it means air conditioning on a warm fall day can feel a little chilly on my skin.
Searching the signs around the bookstore, I try to decide where to begin. I know what I want, but hell if I know where to find it. In the animal section? Business? Who the hell knows? I finally give up and make my way around tables full of sale items to the information desk.
“Can I help you?” the woman behind the counter asks me in a flat tone, never taking her eyes off the monitor she’s staring at.
“Yeah. I’m looking for the new Temple Grandin book. I can’t seem to find it anywhere.”
She continues observing the screen, clearly not interested in this conversation. “What’s the author’s name?”
I crinkle my brow. You’d think someone working at a bookstore would have heard the name before. “Uh, Temple Grandin?”
“What’s the last name?”
“Grandin?” I’m starting to question whether or not I’m actually saying words out loud. Am I speaking too quietly?
A few clicks of the keys later and she finally gets a little animation to her face. “Aha. Here it is. Author’s name is Temple Grandin. It just came out a couple months ago. Follow me.”
I just shake my head at how odd this entire exchange has been and follow her to the “self-help” section. Of course, it’s the one place I didn’t look.
It takes her only a few seconds to locate the book and grab it off the shelf. “Here ya go.” Then she turns and walks away.
