Hate You Not

I should thank him for that—for all of this; he’s doing one hell of a nice guy impression—but I can’t seem to find the words. I shut the bathroom door behind me, feeling annoyed. I’m tired and confused, and evidently my brother has used the occasion of my injury to hold a kegger. I realize I asked Burke about Hot Rocket but not the kids, and I feel like a crummy guardian to boot.

I look at myself in the mirror, and I shed a few tears, feeling sorry for myself and feeling like I’m failing Sutton. Then I wash my face, spray dry shampoo into my hair, and balance my hip on the counter while I braid my hair, so I look less rumpled.

I go back into my room and open the drawer that holds my pajama pants, but quickly realize I can’t fit them over my boot thing. I could wear shorts, maybe. One-size-too-big Nike running shorts and a cozy sweatshirt. I shut my door and check my phone again before endeavoring to dress myself.

Freaking Leah.

I heave a heavy sigh and use the armchair near the bed to dress myself, praying the whole time that Burke doesn’t pop in. When I’m ready, I crutch my way into the hall and down the rugless floor, into the den, where Leah and the kids are playing Chinese checkers. The kids jump up and run to me, their faces rapt and their eyes wide as they check me out.

“Poor June!” Margot says. “But you look so beautiful.”

That makes me laugh. “Do you think so?”

“I do,” Leah says.

I shoot her a quick look and then focus on Oliver, who’s tilting his head. “Why is your cast plastic, and it’s black? When Margot broke her arm, she had a real cast. It was purple.”

“Oh, I’m getting one of those soon. In a few days. Would you like it to be purple?”

He shakes his head. “I want it to be camo!”

He tugs at the ball cap on his head—a Dawgs cap. My family works fast to indoctrinate.

“Your sister bought them both hats.” Leah looks around, and I hear Mary Helen laughing loudly in the kitchen.

“Mine is pink!” Margot runs and grabs it from the coffee table.

“I love it, honey.”

“Go Dawgs!” Margot does a little jump, drawing my gaze to the dress she’s wearing. It’s denim and some kind of burlap, with a big bow tied in front. She’s wearing little leather boots with it, and in her hair is a big, satin bow.

Leah smirks behind Margot’s back, as if to say, Yeah, I saw.

In addition to the camo Dawgs cap, Oliver has on navy blue cargo pants, loafers, and a button-up, plaid shirt I’ve never seen. Like I said, they’re fast workers.

At that moment, Mary Helen comes into the living room, holding a plate of cheese dip and Fritos. I spend the next five minutes being fussed over by her—right in front of Oliver and Margot. Like some kind of child.

She leans in when she’s finished with her hen-pecking, and murmurs, “Took them shopping. What do you think?”

“You didn’t have to do that. Thank you, though.”

Head-sized bows and church attire for everyday wear is one of those Southern things that never really appealed to me. Mary Helen still won’t let any of her kids pick their clothes. I’d like to let Oliver and Margot have some choices.

“You look exhausted,” she says. “Let’s get you down on the couch.”

“Actually, I want to go outside.”

It’s still light out. From where I’m standing, it looks near sunset.

“I want to sit on the porch swing.”

“And let your ankle hang down?” Mary Helen looks at me like I’m crazy.

“Fresh air might be good for her,” Leah says, and I feel grateful.

“Let’s play Frisbee outside!” Margot and Oliver race out onto the porch, and that makes me smile.

“They are thriving,” Leah says with a grin.

“Unlike others of us,” I hiss to her as Mary Helen heads back toward the kitchen. “Have you checked your texts?”

“Um…no. Did you send a message?”

“No, I’m just asking about your texts for shits and giggles.”

“Someone’s grumpy.”

“I’m not grumpy.”

The kids left the porch door cracked, and at that moment, I hear someone’s laughter through it. My stomach does an actual flip, and Leah narrows her eyes.

“Something’s got you thrown off.” She steps closer to me, and her eyes spark with recognition. “Is it him?”

“Who, Shawn?”

She rolls her eyes so hard, I think they might fall to the floor. “C’mon. You might hate him, but you do have eyes.”

“Not sure if you’re aware, I broke my ankle last night.” Now it’s my turn to roll my eyes. “It’s literally throwing me off my ability to walk in the bipedal fashion. Which can make one grumpy.”

She makes a yeah-right face. “That’s not it.”

The front doorbell rings, and Leah gives me a look before dashing off.