Nothing Feels Better (Better Love 3)

“Scooters are funner than legs.”

“That’s true.” He’s right. They are funner than legs. My legs, anyway, but Jocelyn’s legs...

“I have one at my dad’s, but I have to leave it there ‘cause I can’t bring it here ‘cause my dad says so ‘cause he paid for it and not Mom.”

I look at June, and she gives me a curt nod. Man, fuck that guy. I’m sure he does make Jude leave it there. Sounds like something a dick would do.

“Do you have a dog?” Jude continues. I don’t think this kid has taken a breath. “I’m gonna have a dog at my dad’s for my birthday.”

I get another head shake and a scowl from June. “Dad says no dogs.”

“Well, I don’t have a dog either,” I tell him, and he screws his face up in displeasure.

“Do you have a rabbit?”

“No.”

“A turtle?”

My lips twitch at the way his eyes have grown in disbelief. “Nope.”

“A squirrel?” His voice is shocked, and I shake my head, trying not to laugh. A squirrel?

“I don’t have any pets at all.”

“Why? Don’t you like aminals?”

For the life of me, I don’t know how to answer. Because I do like aminals, so why don’t I have one? A dog or a turtle or even a hedgehog. I follow a hedgehog on social media. His name is Horace, and his human is always putting little hats on him. It’s so cute. I could def see myself as a hedgehog dad.

“What’s your superpower?” Jude asks, changing topics. And I thought my brain moved fast.

“My superpower?”

“Mom says everyone has a superpower,” June adds, and Jude wiggles in agreement.

“What’s yours?” I ask the kids, and Jude bounces up and down.

“I’m emengenetic!” he shouts. I raise a brow and look toward June. She sighs loudly. I bet she and Bailey would get along great.

“Energetic,” she translates, and I nod. That makes sense.

“And you?” I look toward June, and she rolls her eyes.

“I’m observant,” she says flatly.

“That’s a really good superpower,” I tell her, and her shoulders perk up slightly. “What’s your mom’s superpower?”

“She’s our mom,” Jude says, his tone very matter of fact. Very, duh Jesse, isn’t it obvious? I ruffle his hair. It should have been obvious.

“Can you really speak Spanish?” June chimes in.

“Sí, princesa.” I wink at her.

“Is that princess?” Her nose scrunches up and she looks like a tinier version of her mom.

“What’s wrong with princesses? Princesses are badass.”

Jude giggles, and I wince. Note to self: don’t cuss around the kid.

“I don’t like dresses and girly pink things and crowns,” June says without missing a beat. I laugh at the utter disgust in her voice. Girl must really hate pink.

“Princesses aren’t just dresses and pink and crowns. They also do things like charity, foreign policy, diplomacy. They help run whole entire countries, June. That’s a lot of responsibility. That’s bada— uh, that’s cool.”

Her face stays scrunched like she’s smelled something rancid.

“Not sold?”

She shakes her head no.

“For the record, I think pink is a cool color. But, how about caballera?”

She arches an eyebrow. “What’s that?”

“A knight in shining armor.” Kind of. There’s no feminine word for knight in Spanish, but I don’t tell her that. A smile stretches across her face. The first I’ve seen from her. I smile back.

“What about me?” Jude asks, giving my arm a tug. “What can I be?”

“Hmmm.” I rub my chin and pretend to think. “You can be.... pequeño pirata.”

“Penguin Pirate?” he shouts with a giggle.

“Tiny pirate,” I correct, and he frowns.

“Strong pirate?” I try again.

“Yes!”

“Pirata fuerte,” I announce, and Jude repeats it. “Okay,” I redirect, “what do you guys

usually do on Saturdays?”

“Stuff,” June says with a shrug, and I watch as she sits on the love seat, pulls her lanky legs up under her giant sweatshirt, and wraps her arms around herself, doing that same shrinking thing she did at the hospital.

She looks like a Weeble. The ones that wobble but don’t fall down. I have to resist the urge to give her a light shove because, realistically, I know that while she’ll definitely wobble, she’ll also likely fall down. And we don’t need another broken bone.

“You wanna do slime?” Jude asks, the “l” sounding very much like a “w”, and when I ask what slime is, he gets up and runs down the hall and up the stairs. Minutes later, he’s back in front of me with his arms full of tiny colorful plastic containers. He drops them on the coffee table and then hits me with that little nose-scrunching smile. “Slime!”

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