Emilio chuckles as I stomp past him. “Don’t even think about it.”
I stick my middle finger up where he can’t see it, just because I’m feeling defiant.
“I saw that!” he calls to my back.
I slam my bedroom door behind me and lean heavily against it. Then I start to pack my shit, because apparently I’m going on tour and I’m taking the man I had one night with along as security. Then I have to deal with my mother when we get back.
Fuck my life.
Tag
Finny slams her bedroom door and I scratch my head. Peck and Star take their husbands and go home, and Marta and Emilio hang out in the kitchen for a few minutes. Benji is stirring, so I go and fix him a bottle. He has been asleep for a while, and he’s going to wake up hungry.
Emilio leans on the kitchen counter on his elbows and glares at me. I look behind me, because I can’t think of any reason he would be staring at me like he hates me. I cough into my closed fist. “Is everything okay?” I ask him.
“Finny’s special,” he says.
I nod. “I’m sure she is.”
“No, I mean really special.”
I nod again, and pop Benji’s bottle in the microwave.
“Finny’s afraid of commitment,” he says.
“Aren’t we all,” I mutter.
His brow arches, but he doesn’t respond to that. “You’ll take care of her while they’re on tour, right?” he asks.
“I promise to do my best.”
“I believe you.” He points a finger at me. “But if you fuck it up, if she comes home with a single scratch on her body, I will murder you with my own two hands.” He grins, but there’s no humor in it. “You feel me?”
I swallow past the lump in my throat. “I feel you.”
I shake the bottle, waiting for Benji to start making those little mewling noises.
“There are two things you should know about Finny,” he says.
“Okay…”
“One, you have to listen to what she doesn’t say, if you want to figure her out.”
I nod.
“And two, never get between her and a coffee pot. She’ll chop your balls off.”
This much I already know about her, but I instinctively bend my back a little, and my nuts draw up. He laughs.
“Call me if you need anything,” he says. He claps me on the shoulder and follows Marta to the door, after kissing his daughters goodbye.
“Night, Melio,” Wren calls to him.
He waves at them and leaves.
Benji makes a noise from my room, so I take the bottle and go to him. I look down into his crib and see that he has kicked himself free of his swaddling blankets, and his skin is moist and rosy. I pick him up, talk to him as I change his diaper, and go back out to the rocking chair in the living room to sit with him.
Lark goes to bed, and Finny is still in her room, but Wren comes out to sit with me.
“So…” Wren says.
“So…”
“Do you think you can take care of Finny while we’re on tour?” She bites her lower lip, worrying it.
“I’ll do my best.”
“Try not to fall in love with her, okay?”
I jerk my head up. “I won’t.”
“Oh, you will. But try not to, okay?”
“I can guarantee you that I’m not ready for a new relationship, Wren.”
She heaves a sigh. “Neither is Fin. But seriously, Tag, don’t fall in love with her. You’ll just get hurt.”
I look up at her. She’s totally serious. “I can handle it.”
She nods, but she still looks worried. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” She gets up and goes to her room. She comes back out carrying a bank deposit receipt. “I put some more money in your account,” she says. She tosses it onto the table.
“I don’t want your money, Wren. Not now. I’m doing odd jobs for the Reeds and I’m okay. I really am. I just have to figure things out.”
“Well, I don’t want my nephew doing without while you figure it all out.” She bends down and kisses Benji on the cheek. Then she shoves the side of my head with the heel of her hand. She reminds me so damn much of Mom right then that tears fill my eyes.
“You do look like her, you know?” I say. I sniffle back a tear.
“She was beautiful,” Wren says softly.
“Yeah, she was.”
She goes to her room and shuts the door.
As soon as she does, Finny’s door opens and she stomps into the room. “Take off your shirt,” she hisses.
“What?” I am startled by her bluntness.
“You were injured. I saw it.” She points to my stomach, where Benji is resting. His mouth is slack around his bottle, so I pull it back and lay him on the couch beside me.
“I’m fine,” I say. But I get up anyway.
“Show me.”
I don’t move, so she reaches out, lifts the edge of my shirt and draws it higher, exposing my stomach. “Oh, it’s not bad,” she says.
“Just a scratch, I think.” I lower my shirt.
She goes to the bathroom and comes back with some antiseptic and cotton gauze. “Let me clean it.”
I hold out my hand for the bottle. “I can do it.”
She shakes her head. “I’ll do it.” She motions for me to take my shirt off, so I pull it over my head and toss it onto the couch beside us.