“I always remember requests.” She laughed as Ashley and Mia both burst into the room, chanting her name and hugging her hips. She squatted and hugged them both back, staying on their level to ask them about school.
The sight of the trio sent an ache through his heart. Rubbing absently at it, he turned back for the kitchen and looked around for something productive to do. Plates. Drinks. The chatter and laughter from the dining room was beautiful, a welcome change from the usual quiet nights at home—it reminded him of having his family together. Of course, those happier moments had been interspersed with darker, moodier moments, and, toward the end, outright fighting. But he wouldn’t let himself dwell on that. The pizza smelled heavenly. He heard Starla telling the girls they couldn’t have a cookie before dinner and chuckling at their groans of disappointment.
Wow. As far as winning his kids over, she was knocking it out of the park. He’d never expected to see it. Even as they ate their pizza, they gazed adoringly at her and hung on her every word. They damn sure weren’t making this easy on him. Or, on second thought, they were making it easy, too easy, which in itself presented new problems.
Pizza and cookies demolished, a hair-and-paint party erupted in his living room. Starla hadn’t only brought hair chalk but some body paints too, to give them the “tattoos” they wanted. He’d never heard such squealing. Neither Ashley nor Mia could sit still while Starla drew elaborate butterflies, hearts, fairies, and abstract designs on their cheeks and arms. She’d barely get one done before they begged for something else. Ashley’s hair ended up in an elaborate, pink-streaked updo, Mia’s in what she squealed was an “Elsa” braid and what Starla called a “Dutch fishtail” of all different colors. He prayed to God that stuff would really wash out, or Shelly would kill him. He’d told her this was happening, and while he doubted she was exactly pleased, she’d seemed okay with it.
“Wow,” he said, admiring Starla’s work.
“Like two little punk-rock princesses,” she said.
“If the tattoo thing doesn’t work out, you could always go to cosmetology school.”
“I did, actually,” she said, making an adjustment to Ashley’s hair. Then she shrugged and looked at him. “Wasn’t for me.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
“Hey,” she said, a sly little smile curling her lips. “I didn’t say I wasn’t good at it, just that it wasn’t for me.” But no sooner had she quit speaking than her expression smoothed out and she turned her attention back to Ashley’s hair. “I guess it’s something I need to explore again, though.”
“Why? If you’re doing what you love, stick with it.”
“Things are…not good up there. For reasons we talked about. Reasons I probably shouldn’t have talked about.”
“Getting worse?” he asked.
“To tell the truth, not much has changed except for me. I don’t get why I can’t keep doing my job and just be happy. Like I used to be. I could always deal before.”
Jared glanced at Ashley, who sat in front of Starla busily digging through her collection of paints, and then at Mia, who was still gazing lovingly into her handheld mirror. Neither of them was paying an ounce of attention to the grown-up conversation, but still, he’d love to get Starla to himself under the stars with a couple of beers again. Not that he would be a lick of help in her situation.
“What’s happened?” he asked, easing himself off the couch and onto the floor with them. Starla glanced at him uncertainly. “Something has,” he went on. “You seem even more down about it tonight than you did before.”
“It’s stupid.”
“No, it’s not.”
“Well…he’s back at work. With Candace and the baby. It’s kind of thrown me into a funk. I’m sure I’ll get over it. And…” She trailed off, casting her sad brown eyes down and pursing her lips. “I shouldn’t talk about it.”
“Okay, of course you know that now you have to.”
She pointed at the back of Ashley’s head. Ah. Something they shouldn’t hear. “Girls,” he said, “why don’t you go play in your room and let me and Starla talk?”
“Dad,” Mia said suddenly, ignoring his request completely. “Can we take pictures to send to Mom?”
He barely suppressed a groan. And so it began. “Let’s not, all right?”
“Aww,” Ashley chimed in, with deflated shoulders and pleading, upturned face. “Please?”
“No. To your room. Now.”
“Do we have to take a bath?” Ashley asked, seemingly horrified at the notion of losing her new hair color so soon.
“Not yet.”
With that, they happily jumped up and ran off to their room. Starla chuckled. “You put the daddy voice on them.”
“It’s a necessity sometimes.”