“We get what we want, but maybe we want too little. We just fucking settle because that’s all we know. When Mom was our mom, she was our mom. When she wasn’t, we accepted that too. I called it adapting, but sometimes I think we just gave up.”
Pax rolls his eyes. “I don’t think I gave up.”
“No, maybe not,” I say, scratching my beard. “I was bored, I think. Sick of girls like Maggie who I don’t like and who don’t like me. Shay is something different and I’m not bored anymore. I don’t see the harm in enjoying her while I can.”
“There’s no harm. You dig her. She digs you. Shouldn’t be more complicated than that.”
Seeing Pax open to the idea of me having feelings, I decide to share as much as I can without turning into a sissy.
“Shay’s different and I don’t want to give her up. When things end, I’ll deal with the consequences. Until then, I’m pretending she’s a keeper.”
“Reality is for suckers,” Pax says with his mouth full of fries. “Embrace the fantasy, man.”
“I plan to. Let’s see if you remember this relaxed mood the next time you see Shay.”
“I’ll try, but I like messing with her. She’s like my little sister and I need to remind her where she exists on the pecking order.”
“Fair enough. I’ll remind you where you exist on the pecking order too. You know, by pounding in your face when you mess with her.”
Pax grins. “Knock yourself out, turd.”
Grinning, I check my phone again and wish Shay texted me to say she was safe. I don’t know why she wouldn’t be, but spending any time on the west side makes me tense. Besides, Creepy Spencer is out there too.
Little Memphis feels ugly and dangerous today. I end up thinking of a thousand bad outcomes to Shay’s silence. Finally, I text her and end the suspense. Yeah, I’m that fucking whipped.
30
Shay
Spell F U C K I N G Doomed
Bebe needs to bring Lula with her to lunch, so we decide to eat at a Burger King with an indoor play area. I’m not a huge fan of little kids and the ones around us are why.
The rowdy little monsters run everywhere while their moms do nothing. The only dad in the restaurant is worse since he’s deeply in love with his phone.
Lula is an angel next to the other kids and sits quietly next to her mom. I almost forget she’s with us sometimes. Though I feel an easy comfort around Bebe, we’re still feeling each other out. All of my friends over the years ditched me when they found boyfriends. Once kids came along, I was definitely past tense. I couldn’t fit in their new family-oriented lifestyles, yet here I was hanging out at a Burger King with Bebe and her four year old.
“How old were you when…?” I ask, gesturing towards Lula playing with the toy from her kid meal.
“Eighteen. For my family, that’s F U C K I N G ancient. My mom had me when she was fourteen, if you can believe that S H I T. My sister came along a year later. Mom gave us to Grandma, but we ended up back with her. I come from a long line of women with a F U C K E D up understanding of birth control.”
Grinning, I look at Lula. “My mom was fifteen when she had me. People always called me a mistake, but I don’t feel like one. I feel like a person with a dumb parent. Lots of people with smart parents suck more than me, so screw them for judging.”
Bebe shares my smile. “I wouldn’t say Lula was planned, but I wasn’t exactly losing any F U C K I N G sleep when I turned up pregnant. My only regret is her dad being such a L O S E R.”
Lula looks up when her mother says her name before returning to play with the pink pony.
“Sorry about the spelling thing. I know it’s obnoxious, but I F U C K I N G love cussing. It’s my vice. I tried giving it up, but it’s too much a part of me. No other vice will do. I tried smoking and looked really hot, but it tastes like S H I T and I kept dropping the cigarettes. I figured I might try drinking, but I’m one of those Emo drunks who writes poetry then forces people to listen to it. I never liked F U C K I N G enough to get addicted to it. I tried smoking pot once and lit my D A M N eyelashes on fire. I’m a picky eater so food addict never clicked for me either. Oh, and shopping gets on my nerves and I’m too poor to gamble. What’s left? Not anything worth caring about, so I cuss. It’s my thing, but I don’t want one of those roughneck kids running around say F U C K this and F U C K that at the grocery store. I want a normal respectable kid, so I have to spell every F U C K I N G thing now. It’s a small price to pay to raise Lula right while also getting to cuss. I do know it sounds stupid to everyone. My A S S H O L E ex said I sounded like a F R I G G I N G mental patient.”