“You know, I think a couple of decades hanging out with your brothers has really had an effect on you.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” she confirms with a nod. “Baboons tend to breed more baboons. Just ask Rafiki.”
“Was Rafiki a baboon?” I find myself asking, and Maria rolls her eyes.
“How about you come back down here, and I’ll tell you.”
I smirk, satisfied with the awakening of Maria’s humor that my little stunt has caused. That was the goal. To cut through the exhaustion with fresh air and antics and remind Maria that she’s human. That even when she’s feeling like she’s trapped at the bottom of a deep well of darkness and unknowns and unexpected motherhood, the breath of fresh air she’s looking for is just a short walk away.
God, it’s good to see her again.
When I don’t move, Maria tosses out both of her hands in front of her and eyes me with a squint. “Remy? What are you doing?”
“Just trying to decide if I should come back down. Does trouble await me at the bottom?”
“You know, I almost forgot how freaking ridiculous you are.” Her smile is so big it clones itself, jumps onto the rock beneath my feet, rolls up through my toes, and reveals itself on my own face.
“What’s the verdict? Am I in trouble?”
“Only the good kind, you lunatic.”
Only the good kind.
Man oh man, do those words give me déjà vu.
Twenty-Eight Years Ago…
Junior year, early October
Remy
“It’s going to be okay, babe,” I tell Maria as we walk out of her doctor’s office.
She’s about four steps ahead of me, and my words make her stop in the middle of the sidewalk and turn around to meet my eyes.
“Okay?” she retorts with irritation that makes her lips part and eyebrows draw together. “I have to keep this stupid cast on for another two weeks! I won’t be able to cheer, and I’m pretty sure this means I’m on the bench for the rest of the season! It is most certainly not going to be okay.”
Today’s appointment was supposed to be a splendid occasion where the doctor took off Maria’s cast and gave her arm the all clear for physical activity.
The pink cast was removed, but when they did an X-ray, the doctor felt it was wise for her to keep a cast on for another two weeks to ensure that it’s healed properly.
Needless to say, my girl, sporting a black—“because it matches my soul right now, Remy”—cast, is none-too-pleased.
And since Mrs. Baros got stuck at work and she’s had six weeks to warm up to me, and six weeks to become friendly with my mom, I’m the one who drove Maria here. Which means, I’m the one who has the privilege of trying to help her feel better about the whole situation.
“Babe, I know you’re upset, but—”
“There is no but here, Remy,” she cuts me off before I can continue. “There is nothing you can say or do that will make me feel better about this.”
She turns on her heel, flips her long brown hair over her shoulder, and stomps toward my Mustang that’s parked across the street from the medical center. Located just outside the city, her physician’s office is only about a twenty-minute drive from home and has street parking. Which, if you know New York, you know that’s like finding a unicorn.
My only choice is to follow behind her.
If it were any other girl, I might be annoyed, but Maria has this special way of being cute when she’s angry. Honestly, after spending the last month and half dating, I’ve yet to find a moment when she’s irritated me. It’s strange but kind of awesome at the same time.
Jude and Ty love telling me I’m “whipped” like the little assholes they are, and Flynn looks at me with serious eyes a lot. Of course, Winnie is Team Maria because she loves the fact that Maria has a little sister too. It means she has more opportunity to try to tag along with me.
I dutifully beep the locks when Maria reaches the passenger side, and I hop into the driver’s seat just as she’s closing her door.
“Are you okay?” I ask her carefully, trying to get a feel for where her head is at.
“I’m fine, Remy.”
One look at her and I almost want to laugh. Her arms are crossed, her brow is furrowed, and a little pout has found a home at the corners of her pretty mouth.
But I don’t dare laugh. I may just be a sixteen-year-old dude, but I’m way smarter than that. It’s never smart for a guy to laugh when a girl is angry. I’m also aware that the word fine doesn’t mean fine at all when it’s coming from a girl’s lips.