A Little Like Love (Robin and Tyler 2)

“She is not your problem, Robin. Just send her away.”

“Sorry, I can’t do that,” I snap.

“Why not?”

“Because you already did.”

I’m not sure I have the capability of taking care of a teenager, much less a pregnant one. I mean, I’m twenty-five and still eat cereal with tiny marshmallows in it. But I know more than to kick a girl like that out on the street, so I can at least be assured that I’m a better aunt than Maggie is a mother.

The front door opens and I pop off the bay window with a smile, leaving my phone behind me. No need to worry Miranda with my residual look of hatred from being on the phone with her mother. “What was so hilarious out there?” I ask. Marcus closes the door behind them and they stand awkwardly in the living room. “Nothing,” Miranda says. “Why?”

“I just heard some laughing and wondered why I wasn’t invited to the party.” I nudge her with my elbow as she walks by and she just rolls her eyes. “You could have come out there with us,” she says.

The doorbell rings and startles everyone with how loud it is. Tyler must have installed a doorbell loud enough to wake up an entire mansion, not just a small two bedroom apartment.

“Who is that?” Miranda asks, stepping backwards into the kitchen as if she’s looking for a place to hide.

Marcus pulls open the door. “It’s pizza!”

“I ordered it,” I explain. “We were all hungry so…” But when I look back at Miranda, she’s not watching me. She’s sitting on the bay window with my cell phone in her hand. The screen is still lit up and displays my recent call list. “You called my mother?” she asks. Her face distorts in pain and betrayal. “How could you do that?”

“Hey,” I say, taking the phone from her. “I just wanted her to know you were safe.”

“You said you wouldn’t call her!”

“I’m sorry, but I had to.”

The front door closes and Marcus walks in carrying two pizzas and a two liter of soda. He’s temporarily unaware of what’s going on, but that doesn’t last long. “I trusted you!” Miranda snaps. “I trusted you with everything and you lied to me.”

“Miranda, stop. I didn’t do anything to hurt you. I just told her that you were safe with me. She doesn’t even know where we are.”

“Where did you say we were?”

I shrug. “I didn’t say anything. She didn’t ask.”

This stops Miranda’s tirade. She looks to Marcus who stands there gnawing on his bottom lip as the pizzas make the whole room smell delicious. She sighs. “Thank you for not telling her. Salt Gap is our place and I don’t want her to know about it.”

I nod and place a finger over my lips. The tension lessens in the room. Everything will be okay.

I mean…it has to be.

Chapter 3

My car is back to normal again. But that’s the only thing that’s normal about life now. We’ve been in our rental house for three days, each of which Miranda spent at the diner for twelve hours a day. I’ve done a whole lot of shopping for things we need at the closest Target, which is an hour away.

We have dishes and shower curtains and clothes hangers and a Texas shaped welcome mat at the front door. There is an area rug in the living room and a pitcher of sweet iced tea in the fridge. We have air mattresses in our bedrooms and Miranda has a closet of new clothes, some of which are maternity shirts even though she gagged when I brought them home. I haven’t found a furniture store that will deliver out here yet, and I don’t exactly want to ask Marcus to borrow his truck again, so we don’t have a couch. Miranda and I have taken to dragging our air mattresses into the living room for night time movie marathons since, oh yeah, they don’t get cable TV out here in Salt Gap.

It’s been a fun three days with my niece. The stress of moving and unpacking is nothing compared to the stress of my old life in Houston. I’m no longer fielding phone calls and driving all over town, shuttling picky home buyers from place to place. I haven’t worn high heels all week and my feet thank me for that every single day. In fact, I’m wearing pink fuzzy house slippers that totally don’t match my black yoga pants and neon yellow tank top. If all goes well, I won’t even change out of this outfit all day.

It’s eight in the morning and Miranda is getting ready for work. I lean against her door frame and watch her apply her makeup. She twists her hair into a cute bun held together with chopsticks from the Chinese takeout we ordered two nights ago. I keep forgetting she’s pregnant. And we should probably do something about it.

“Have you seen a doctor yet?”

“No, why?” she says with a bobby pin dangling out the corner of her mouth.

“For your pregnancy. It’s pretty important that you get regular checkups and stuff.”

“Oh.” She removes the pin and slides it on the side of her head to pin back a few stray hairs. “Yeah I guess. But I don’t have insurance and people have babies all the time so it’s probably fine.”