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“Oh, no you don’t.” Co
If Co
Mark hops up and brushes his chest. “You are craayyzzyyy,” he yells at McKenzie.
“You dumped an entire bucket of soapy water on me, asshole!”
“McKenzie!” I scold. “Watch your mouth!”
“I won’t watch my mouth!” she seethes. “He is an asshole!”
“McKenzie Tuffman, don’t make me call your mother!”
“Ohhh,” she laughs with disdain as she raises her arms and flaps her hands, feigning fear. “Don’t call Mommy.”
“Okay,” Co
“Good luck getting her to calm down,” Mark snorts. “Kenz is bat-shit crazy.”
McKenzie darts toward him to attack, but Co
“Shut up, Kenz!” Mark yells. But Kenz is on the maddening and often runaway train of teenage hormones. There’s no stopping her.
“You killed a man, right?”
My heart drops as I watch the ridiculing glare she gives Co
“This is my house,” I growl, through gritted teeth. “That,” I point to the garage apartment, “is Co
Kenzie yanks her arm from my grip and backs away. “I hate this house,” she affirms, her tone angry, but far lower than before. “My mom knew it, too.” With that, she spins around and sprints inside. I shake my head not understanding why she’d hate my house. She used to love sleeping over here.
“This is her every day, Dem,” Mark comments, but flinches a little when I whip around on him, my anger apparently quite evident in my expression. “No more cursing and leave her alone. Do you understand me?”
“Yes,” he answers quietly.
“Now go in and start making bologna sandwiches for everyone.” He groans under his breath but does as I ask. Turning to Co
“I’m sorry—”
“Not your fault,” Co
“She was out of line and—”
“Let’s just drop it Demi,” he interrupts me again. He won’t make eye contact with me. Realizing that maybe he’s embarrassed, and I’m only making it worse, I push aside the urge to press on and make him hear my apology.
Instead, I try and change the subject hoping to smooth things over. “That’s nice of you to wash my car.” The three youngest Tuffman children are still busy with car washing and eating animal cookies.
“Thought I’d keep them busy,” Co
He finally looks at me, his mouth quirking on one side, and I smile at his joke. “I don’t know how Wendy and Jeff do it.”
He sighs loudly. “Me either.”
“Demi!” J.J. yells and as I turn to acknowledge him, I’m blasted by cold water. J.J. hits me right in the chest with the jet stream setting on the nozzle, soaking me. Co
“Demi,” J.J. laughs and points. “Why are your nipples all pointy like that?”
My jaw drops as I look down. White T-shirt and water; I’m pretty much topless right now, and my nipples are hard because I’m cold. My mind is moving in slow motion because I look up to Co
“Shit!” I mumble as I slap my hands over my breasts and rush into the house. Co
When I finally emerge, Co
“Thanks for handling lunch.” Grabbing the sponge from the back of the sink I start wiping the table down. It doesn’t look like it needs a wipe down, but I’m desperate for a reason to avoid eye contact with him.
“I just wiped it off Demi,” J.J. volunteers.
“Oh, well you did a great job,” I say. “Thought I saw a little spot. Guess my vision is getting bad in my old age.”
“I want to see Mr. Jenson. He said he’d give me candy,” Mary-A
“Maybe later,” I tell her as I run a hand over her blonde hair. “But don’t go over there without me, okay?”
“Yes, ma’am. Can we go outside and play?” Mary-A
“If Mark will go with you and keep an eye on the three of you, you can go out. And I want to see my entire driveway covered in art. If you do a good job, I’ll have a treat for you.”
“Yay!” The two barrel off to find Mark, arguing who will draw the most or best pictures, and Grayson, noting the commotion, climbs down off his chair and runs after them.
“How many hours until bedtime?” Co
“Approximately nine,” I jest. “You’re saving my life this weekend, ya know? Thank you for all the help. I’m afraid I was incredibly ambitious to think I could handle them by myself.”
“It’s been pretty fun, minus the sibling drama. They’re good kids.”
“Yeah, they are. I love them to pieces. They might be the closest thing I’ll ever have to children.”
Co
The comment was off-handed. I hadn’t meant it to sound like I was throwing myself a pity party. “Who knows if and when I’ll remarry? Maybe children aren’t in the cards for me.”
His mouth quirks up in a smirk, a smirk conveying disbelief. “No way. A woman like you Demi . . . you need babies. Lots of them.”
He always says the kindest things to me. And every time he does I find myself eager to hear another compliment or praise; somehow his opinion of me has come to matter much more than it should.
I laugh a little. “I don’t know about lots of them. I think this weekend has proven an effective method of mental birth control. But one,” I smile faintly at the thought, “one would be nice. But maybe it’s not meant to be, eh? What about you? You want kids?”