“Christ,” he mutters as my face burns.
We follow them inside so they could say goodbye to their kids, but it’s the way Teo clutches his babies and helps Evie with her coat that makes me gush.
“All the numbers―our cells, the restaurant, and the theatre are written on a pad beside the phone,” he tells us. “Our address is on top in case you need to call an ambulance―”
“Where’s the earthquake kit in case we need it?” Finn asks.
“In the man cave behind the bar, next to the zombie survival gear,” Evie answers.
“No, shit?” Finn says, sounding impressed.
“It’s a power outage kit,” Teo says, trying to hide his smirk when Evie starts laughing.
“I would have been more impressed if you were prepared for the apocalypse,” Finn says. He shrugs. “Just saying.”
I pick up Lynnie when she begins to whimper as she watches her mommy and daddy leave. Evelyn pauses, so does Teo. “It’s okay,” I assure them. “They’ll be fine.”
“Totally,” Finn adds. “I mean, what could happen?”
“This shit’s not coming off,” Finn says, tossing the washcloth he was using to scrub Lynnie’s cheeks on the table.
“Are you sure?” I ask, dumping the piles of cereal Mattie spilled on the floor into the garbage can. I cringe when Finn points to her face. Sure enough, the giant purple whiskers that start at her nose and end at each of her little ears are still there. I don’t mean to sound like an idiot―because believe me, I’m upset, but those are very impressive whiskers. “It’s like he used a ruler,” I say, shaking my head in awe.
“The kid’s got skill,” Finn says, sounding as impressed as I feel. “Too bad he used permanent marker. Told you it was a bad idea.”
“I was trying to give them a project,” I insist. “Didn’t your mother give you projects to keep you entertained?”
“No. She sat me in front of the T.V. to watch cartoons.”
“She sat you in front of the T.V.?” I question. “That’s it?”
He points at me. “There were seven of us and I was the last. If we didn’t kill each other or break something, it was a good day. I turned out just fine and I never drew on some poor unsuspecting kid.”
“I’m not judging,” I tell him as I return to the utility closet to put away the broom and pan. “I just figured someone as energetic as you would need more stimulation.” I freeze when I realize things are quiet, too quiet. “Finn, where’s Mattie?”
“Weren’t you watching him?” he asks.
“No, I was cleaning up his mess―just like I was cleaning up his toys when you let him draw all over his sister.”
He frowns. “I was busy cleaning up all the papers and markers he threw on the floor. I didn’t know he was using the one marker that escaped his wrath on his sister. She was laughing, and he was, too. I thought ―”
The sound of something spilling from the pantry makes us collectively groan. I rush in and find Mattie climbing the wire shelves as he sorts through Evie’s version of a cereal aisle. “Mattie, no!”
I snatch him in my arms, but like Finn said, the kid has some mad skills. He snatches another box as I drag him out, spilling more cereal.
“Holy sh―”
My glare cuts Finn off. “You know what I mean,” he says. “The kid can make a mess. What’s your problem, little man?”
“Maybe he’s hungry. Here, switch,” I say, passing Mattie to Finn and lifting Lynnie out of his arms. “You feed him while I give her a bath. As soon as we get them in bed, we can work on cleaning this mess.”
“You think a bath is going to remove those whiskers? I was going to look in the garage for something that might work.”
“In the garage?” I ask, gasping.
“Yeah,” he says like I didn’t hear him the first time.
“Finn, you’re not putting anything from that garage on this baby.”
He grins. So does Mattie, and so does Lynnie. Yeah. Because I’m clearly the crazy one.
“You’re really testy,” Finn says. “Still sexy, but testy all the same.”
“Just feed Mattie,” I mutter, trying not to let him get to me. Who am I kidding? He already has. My time with Finn over the weekend was the only time I managed a real laugh, and a real smile. Was my sadness still there? Yes, it always lingers close to the surface. But that little bit of happiness . . . let’s say I can use more of it.
Dr. Franco, my mother’s psychiatrist is concerned by the increase in her episodes. I thought her recent relapse was due to not taking her meds, or her need for a different anti-psychotic. But he’s worried it’s something more serious. So instead of bringing her home yesterday, I led my father out of the hospital without her, trying to stay strong when he fell apart. “I miss who she was,” he told me in Spanish, tears reddening his eyes.