Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 94883 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94883 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Their girls explode around her a second later, one squirming between her legs as the other darts past her on the right to hurl herself into Luis’s arms. Sophie and Sylvie have brown eyes like their mama and Luis’s darker curls and are the cutest—loudest—things I’ve seen in a long time.
The next forty minutes are a blur of kid chatter as Makena commands the tiny kitchenette and proceeds to make magic with two burners and a microwave. I’m assigned vegetable chopping duty, which I execute poorly enough that she takes the knife away and gives me stirring responsibilities instead. Luis and Lila help where they can, but we all mostly try to stay out of her way.
Meanwhile, the girls are giddy over their new toys. Soon, a LEGO city is sprouting from the carpet by the old air conditioner, and Roar, the T-Rex, is threatening mass destruction if he doesn’t get candy.
“No, Roar, don’t do it,” I beg, making Sylvie, the older girl, giggle. “Don’t be a bad dinosaur. Be a good dinosaur.”
“Never! I was born to be bad,” Sylvie says in her deep “dinosaur” voice.
“Sounds like you, Parker,” Makena teases from where she’s already plating, making Lila laugh.
“Your daddy, too,” Lila says. “Did I ever tell you girls about when Daddy was little and he took his big brother’s motorcycle out on the highway when he was only thirteen?”
“Oh, hush,” Luis says. “Don’t tell them that story. And don’t you two ever get on a motorcycle. They’re dangerous.”
Lila smiles at him, love in her eyes. “Oh, how the bad boy has changed.”
He hugs her to his side on the small couch. “The bad boy loves his family too much to be bad.”
By ten-thirty, Makena has a feast on the shabby particle board table. Roast salmon with an herb purée and a steamed veggie medley, she managed to turn into a magical side dish in the microwave. Not to mention hot rolls, butter she whipped together with some truffle salt, and a bowl of homemade Mac’n’Cheese for the girls.
“How?” Lila blinks. “How did you do this… In here… With that…” She gestures toward the pathetic kitchenette.
“Practice,” Makena says simply. “I’ve cooked in worse conditions. And the rolls aren’t from scratch. So, don’t give me too much credit.”
Lila grins. “I’ll give as much credit as I like. This is…” She takes Makena’s hand, giving it a squeeze. “Thank you so much. For this and the toys, jammies, and books. I’m so grateful to have something to read, and I love that series.”
“Well, you can thank Parker for that,” Makena glances my way. “He picked them out.”
“He has good taste,” Lila says, winking my way, clearly meaning good taste in more than the books.
Meaning her, the woman she assumes is mine.
The woman I really hope will be mine someday soon.
We eat crowded around the tiny table, the girls already in their new pajamas. The kids chatter about everything and nothing, blissfully unaware of the weight their parents carry, and my respect for Luis and Lila inches up another notch. They’re not hiding anything from their kids, but they’re protecting them. Sheltering them.
This is what family looks like. Not the passive-aggressive shit my parents pulled for years, putting me so solidly in the middle of their cold war, I never had a shot at remaining oblivious. The only time I felt as safe as these little girls seem to feel was the month I spent with my grandmother every summer in Oxford.
Safety wasn’t something my parents were good at.
But it’s something I’m going to be good at, I decide as we clean up the dishes while Sophie and Sylvia brush their teeth and Lila turns down the lights.
I’ve never thought much about kids, but now, I think I’d like to have a family to take care of someday. A family to take care of me. People who are mine—forever—and who I never let down, no matter how hard times might get.
The ride home is quiet, aside from Luis assuring us both that he’s caught his third wind and will be going straight home to sleep as soon as he drops us at our place.
“Thank you both,” he says as he pulls up to the house fifteen minutes later. “I’ll never forget what you did tonight. You’re good people.”
“So are you guys,” Makena says sleepily as I help her out of the car. “It was so good to meet you and your family, Luis. I hope everything works out the very best way it can.”
“For you, too,” he says, lifting a hand through the open window. “Take care of each other. And I’ll see you at the rink this fall!”
We return the wave until he’s out of sight, when our tired arms flop back to our sides. Behind us, the house is dark, quiet in that suburban way that used to feel a little bit lonely, but now just feels peaceful.