Reckless

I’m folding a green jumper embroidered with tiny frogs when my Aunt Imelda sits primly next to me and folds her hands.

“Isn’t this a lovely shower?” she asks, her intention as obvious as the gun-toting, hooded thief who screams, This is a robbery!

“Yes, tía. It’s perfect.” No dildo cakes. No mis-gifted sex toys. No embarrassing games. My mother must be delighted. Although… my cousin Natalia melted chocolate candies in diapers and made everyone sniff them to guess the candy. That’s gross, right?

Forcing myself to smile, I try to be grateful. My sister got a beautiful shower. She was happy, and that’s all that matters. I won’t retaliate with laundry hijinks.

My feelings are still a wee bit hurt, but I’m an adult. I can be mature. Isn’t this what people call a “learning experience”? And today, I’ve learned you have to get to the front of the line for the cake because that shit goes fast.

Aunt Imelda elbows me while her unibrow wiggles like an angry caterpillar. “So when are you going to settle down and marry a good man? You’re not getting any younger.” She points to the corners of my eyes like I’m an old hag.

Jeeesus. “As soon as I pay off my attorney bill from that time I almost got a felony.”

My mom chokes on her sparkling soda.

What? If I give Imelda a civilized answer, I’m giving her positive reinforcement to be an asshole.

I don’t think my mom hears my internal dialogue because she gives me scary eyes, the ones that make me grateful I’m out of reach.

Ugh, I need to get out of here. I always revert to a teenager when I’m around my family.

Of course, it takes ten years to clean up after the party—thanks, cuz, for not helping with that—hug everyone, and trudge to my car.

By the time I reach Ethan’s gravel driveway, I’m in desperate need of an alcoholic beverage, preferably something so strong you can light it on fire, especially when I see Allison’s sleek black Lexus parked in front of the house.

Motherfuckity.

I consider backing out, but she’s standing on the porch with Ethan and the kids, and they see me.

When I catch the time on the dashboard clock, I let out a curse. Why didn’t I realize I might run into her? It’s Sunday evening, the time I usually hide from the harpy.

When they shift around, probably as bewildered why I’m showing up now as I am, I’m startled by how much they look like a family. All beautiful and tan with dirty-blonde hair and big, blue eyes, the kind of perfect people you see glossing the covers of magazines in the grocery store.

Reluctantly, I park my junker next to her import, and it rushes through me—how much I hate this comparison. I’ll never be Allison with her designer clothes and French manicures. I know Ethan doesn’t care about that stuff, but it’s hard to feel confident next to someone who looks like his ex does.

With a quick glance in the rearview mirror to make sure I don’t have raccoon eyes, I smooth down my sundress and slide out of the car. Hey, I tell myself. At least this time I’m wearing underwear, and I’m not half-naked and hungover in the back of Ethan’s truck.

Ah, gallows humor.

Ethan’s attention zeroes in on me like a shaft of sunlight. His eyes connect with mine, travel down my dress, pausing on my cleavage, dip down to my legs, and make a slow lift back to my face. I can’t help but smile at him.

“Hey, guys.”

The kids immediately grab my legs and try to scale me like a mountain.

Allison huffs, ignoring me altogether. “Can I invite my parents or not?”

Ethan shifts awkwardly, running a hand over his scruffy chin. “Didn’t think y’all would want to come, honestly.”

Her chest heaves. “You thought I’d miss my own kid’s birthday party?”

“I thought you’d do something for Cody with your family.” His voice is calm despite the hellishly awkward vibe in the air.

“That’s stupid, Ethan. I should bring my parents here for your party. There’s no point in doing separate events for a two-year-old who won’t even remember it. They could use something cheerful since my grandfather just passed.”

Her shrill voice makes Mila’s bottom lip tremble.

I hate interjecting, but Mila’s two seconds from crying, and if she cries, Cody might join her, especially since he’s tired and rubbing his eyes. “Can I take the kids inside?”

“No. You cannot take my kids inside,” Allison barks.

Ethan places a gentle hand on my shoulder. “Actually, hon, do me a favor and take the kids to the diner for some ice cream.” He pulls out his wallet and hands me a twenty-dollar bill.

It’s obvious he doesn’t want Mila and Cody to witness the showdown happening here. I’ve already told Ethan I’m not comfortable driving his truck, but this is probably his way of not contradicting Allison while still protecting the children. He’s such a good guy. He tries so hard. I barely refrain from shooting Allison a dirty look. How could she not want this man?

“I don’t have car seats in my—” I motion toward my rust heap, and I swear Allison’s eye twitches.

“Take the truck.” He’s reaching for his keys, and I’m shaking my head no, and Mila’s yanking on my dress.

No, no, no. I can’t explain why I shouldn’t drive them in front of Allison, not when she’s looking at me like I might infect her with the plague.

But Ethan opens my palm and makes me take the keys. “Please.”

One word.

That’s all he has to say for my resolve to wane, but I have a sinking suspicion his conversation with Allison was going fine until I showed up, so I want to help him however I can.

“Sure. Yeah.”

I just hope he’s not upset with me when I tell him I can’t keep doing this.

Forty-five minutes later, Logan strolls through the door of the Lone Star, pausing briefly to flirt with one of the waitresses, before sliding into our booth. Cody is asleep in my arms, his ice cream melted into a puddle in his bowl, and Mila clings to my other side, stressed out from watching her parents argue.

“Hey, little darlins,” Logan drawls.

I’m too tired to do more than lift my hand.

I don’t ask why he’s here and Ethan’s not, but something about that pisses me off more than being in the middle of everything. But damn it, it hurts to hear Mila cry over her parents and how she’s worried they’re mad at her. Just thinking about it makes my eyes sting and my belly burn with frustration.

I want to protect these kids, but they’re not mine to protect. I want to protect Ethan, but sometimes he doesn’t feel like he’s mine either. Like on that porch earlier this evening, I had zero control about anything.

And really, who am I to have any say here? I’m the nanny. Not their mom.

Logan taps a finger on his cell. “Heard you guys had a rough time at the ranch. I’m supposed to bring you home as soon as I get a text.”

The meaning is clear. When Allison is gone, we can return.

She’s still there? Jealousy tears through me at the thought of her being alone with Ethan.

Get used to it, genius. You did suggest they remain a team for the sake of the ranch. Plus, it was her house first.

Fuck me sideways, this sucks.

My emotions must be clear as day because Logan gives me a sympathetic smile. I hate that look. I know it well. It’s the one all my friends gave me when they found out I’d been unknowingly dating a married man. “This will all work out. I know my brother.”

I nod, fear making me wonder, Work out for whom?

His phone vibrates, and he smiles as if this is proof of our impending happiness.

But I have a bad feeling about this. All of this.

Logan scoops up Cody, and I help him get the kids situated in his truck before I follow them back to the ranch.

The familiar sounds of baseball make me smile when we walk through the front door, but my sprig of optimism is quickly dashed.

Ethan is sound asleep on the couch. In front of him is an open bottle of wine and two glasses.

Ethan drinks beer.

I look at Logan, but he just shrugs and helps me carry the kids to bed. He does me a favor and doesn’t try to bullshit me and try to make me feel better, and I don’t bother to pretend I’m in a good mood.

When the kids are asleep, I go to my room and close my door, hoping to have some perspective in the morning. Because right now, I don’t have a good perspective. Not at all.