Rowan
I agree. Rowan was so moved, he ran out to Costco to panic-buy a pack of 1,000 condoms. —Zahra
1,000? You’ll be dead by the time you finish the box.
Rowan sends a middle finger emoji.
Iris
AH! Why isn’t Zahra in this chat yet?
Dick-lan
Because it’s for Kanes only.
Look at Declan acting like a dick again. *pretends to be shocked*
Rowan
…
A notification pops up letting us all know Zahra, Rowan’s girlfriend and Dreamland-obsessed adult, has been added to the conversation by Iris. If I didn’t feel chronically single before, fifth wheeling in a goddamn group chat would have pushed me over the edge.
Zahra
Hi everyone!!!
She sends another message with a variation of hearts and smiling faces.
Zahra
Cal, when are you bringing your kid to Dreamland?
Zahra
We would love to have her!!!
No wonder Declan didn’t want her in the chat. If there is one thing he hates more than texting, it’s people who text multiple messages at a time.
I shut my eyes and take a deep breath before replying.
I gotta go.
I put my phone on silent and ignore the rest of their messages. I’ve gotten better at avoiding the two couples over the last few months, especially since Rowan and Zahra have been busy working at Dreamland while Declan and Iris are overwhelmed with their house renovation and focused on getting pregnant.
If someone asked me years ago if I would be the last one out of my brothers to be single, I would have laughed in their face. My brothers have the emotional intelligence of toddlers and personalities equivalent to beige paint, yet they both achieved something I never could.
They found happiness and love with someone else.
For a time, I thought I had that too. Or at least I did until I screwed it all up, ruining any chance at having the same thing.
You sound jealous.
Probably because I am.
5
ALANA
I skip my usual morning tinto and have a double shot of espresso, hoping a good hit of caffeine will save me from the utter exhaustion I wake up with. After spending the entire night tossing and turning from Cal’s surprise midnight appearance, I’m tempted to crawl back into bed and sleep for the rest of my Saturday. I totally would if I wasn’t expected to be in full mom mode all day.
Cami loves constant attention and affection, and I’m happy to spoil her with it. After growing up with a father who abandoned me and a sister who doesn’t give a crap about me, there is nothing I want more than for Cami to always feel loved.
Usually, I can whip up arepas con queso from scratch with no problem, but today, my feet drag as I head on over to the pantry. It’s days like today that make me wish I bought sugary colorful cereal from the grocery store like most families and called it a meal.
I’m just barely able to make it through preparing breakfast. By the time I’m done cutting up some fruit and serving Cami a small cup of juice, I’m nearly ready to topple over.
“Are you feeling okay, Mommy?”
“Just tired.” I lean against the counter.
Her forehead creases. “Do you still want to watch the game?”
I gesture to our matching yellow soccer jerseys. “Of course. Your grandma would expect nothing less.” My mom’s love for our national team never faded even after we moved to America from Barranquilla when I was seven. Cami and I honor her memory by continuing the tradition of watching the games together while eating one of her favorites, pandebonos.
“Yay!” Cami’s bright grin with her missing front tooth warms my heart.
“It’s settled then. Now eat while I fix your hair.” Braiding Cami’s hair is a soothing task to keep my mind occupied. Throughout the day, I probably fix her hair at least three different times. No matter what kind of hairstyles I try or what products I use, it only takes an hour for her hair to turn into a mess of knots and flyaways.
She stuffs pieces of food into her mouth as I brush her hair. In the middle of me finishing her french braid, my stomach growls, so I reach over to steal a piece of her fruit.
She slaps my hand away. “Hey! Get your own.”
I tickle her until she gives up on hoarding her strawberries. Her sassy little sigh makes me smile as she stabs a piece of a cut-up strawberry and offers her fork to me. I’m about to take a bite, but the doorbell chimes, interrupting me.
“I got it!” Cami hops off her stool.
“Not so fast there.” I snag her before she runs out of the kitchen and place her back on the seat. “What did I say about answering the door?”
“Don’t open the door to strangers.” Her legs swing back and forth underneath her, still too short to reach the floor.
I tap her nose. “Exactly. Why don’t you finish up while I go see who is there?” I point at her plate before exiting the kitchen.
On my way to the front door, I check the doorbell app on my phone. Cal paces the front porch. He switches from stuffing his hands into his front pockets to running them through his messy hair to assessing the wood planks on the porch—all in a single minute. I’m not sure whether his ADHD or anxiety is to blame for all the sudden movements, but damn, he can’t stand still to save his life.
As much as I resent the idea of speaking to Cal after yesterday, I have to give him credit for showing up this morning bright and early, seeking answers. He gains an ounce of respect from me.
Maybe he cares after all.
I’m quick to shove the thought out of my mind. Him showing up today has nothing to do with me and everything to do with finding out who Cami’s father is. He probably wouldn’t even be here if I hadn’t left things the way I did last night. Since I chose to avoid dealing with Cal and the emotions he stirred up, this is my consequence. It wasn’t my most mature moment, but I had no idea how to handle him thinking I would have sex with someone so soon after we broke up.
I know we only dated for a few months, but they meant everything to me. And for a time, I thought he felt the same way.
Should have known better.
Although I’m tempted to leave him out there for a few more minutes so he can stew in his thoughts, I might as well put us both out of our misery.
His lips moving soundlessly catches my attention, and I raise the volume on the app loud enough that I can hear him.
“What if I suck at being a parent?” he asks himself.
“Well, it’s not like you can be any worse than your father,” he replies to himself.
“He’s a narcissistic psychopath. The bar wasn’t set very high to begin with.”
I don’t want to find him endearing—not even in the slightest—yet I find my lips curving upward at the sight of him having a full-blown conversation with himself.
Why are you smiling at him of all people?
The thought is sobering, and I lock my phone to avoid stealing another glance at him.
I roll my shoulders back before opening the door. Cal looks up at the sound of the creaking hinges, revealing his red-rimmed eyes and haggard appearance. I’d put money on the fact that he is most likely hungover rather than sleep-deprived like me. It’s obvious in the way he winces at the bright light hanging above me, illuminating the entryway.
My nails bite into my palms at the evidence of his addiction.