Heart of Glass (Fostering Love 3)

“Yeah,” I replied. “I haven’t had any luck so far.”

“And you do tattoos?”

I glanced at her quickly, but she wasn’t looking at me.

“Actually,” I said, looking back at the fruit I was cutting, “I do piercings.”

“Really,” she said, drawing out the word like she was intrigued. “Do you pierce anything?”

Her insinuation was clear, and I giggled. “Your son asked me the same thing.”

“Which son?”

“Well—” I paused. “Both of them, actually.”

“I’m not surprised,” she said drily, making me smile. “They both like to think they’re open-minded, but I can imagine their shudders.”

Before I could confirm her impression, she spoke again. “If I’m wrong,” she said, lifting a hand like a stop signal, “don’t tell me.”

“No.” I chuckled. “You’re right. Both of them cringed.”

“My nieces have both had piercings,” she said, wiggling her head from side to side. “I know some people don’t like them, but I always thought they looked pretty. Though I could do without the bull-ring hanging from Ani’s nose. A little nostril piercing, I think that’s the way to go.”

“It’s called a septum ring,” I said, smiling still. “And if you ever want your nostril done, I can do it.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” she mused, finishing up on the sandwiches she was making. “Mike would probably have a conniption.”

“He doesn’t like them?”

“He’s never really said so, but I have a feeling he’d have an opinion if I were to put an extra hole anywhere.”

“I don’t have any piercings, either,” I replied. I’d learned quite differently about spousal reactions depending on the location of the piercing, but I wasn’t about to touch that conversation with a ten-foot pole. “Well, besides my ears. I got those done when I was a baby.”

“See too many of them?” she asked.

“I think they’re beautiful, I’ve just never really felt the urge.” I shrugged. “I have a tattoo, though.”

Before she could ask me where it was, the guys came in from the backyard with a soaking-wet Etta.

“She wanted me to spray her with the hose,” my dad explained as Trevor carried my girl out in front of him in an attempt to stay dry.

“Oh, man,” I said, rinsing off my hands. “Come here, princess.”

“Me wet,” she told me as I took her from Trevor. “Me ’plashin’.”

“I can see that.” I met Trevor’s eyes as he laughed. “She likes splashing,” I said inanely.

“Yeah, I remember. Just not when someone else is doing it, right?” His voice was nonchalant, but his eyes said so much more. They said that he remembered everything about that day, and he was currently remembering very clearly what I looked like in my swimsuit.

“Lunch is ready,” Ellie said, interrupting the silent conversation going on between me and her son.

“I’ll be right back,” I blurted, uncomfortably.

“Wight back,” Etta repeated.

“You’re soaked,” I murmured as I brought Etta into our room. “Are you having fun?”

“Yes.” She nodded while I stripped off her romper and diaper.

“It’s nice having them visit, huh?” I grabbed a sundress and a clean diaper and tossed her gently onto the bed, making her giggle. “You like them?”

“Me wike Twevo,” she replied.

“What about Ellie and Mike?”

“Funny,” she said, her little face serious.

“They are pretty funny.” I got her dressed as she squirmed to get away. “They like you. I can tell.”

“Me funny.”

“Yeah, you’re funny, too.”

She replied with some long string of words that I didn’t understand, but I nodded along, knowing that she thought she was making perfect sense.

When we got back into the kitchen, everyone was already seated at the small kitchen table and my dad had pulled his computer chair from the living room so I’d have a place to sit.

“Little crowded,” my dad said unnecessarily.

“Just the way we like it,” I replied, smiling. I wasn’t joking. If it was up to my dad, we’d always have people over. I was a little less of a social butterfly, but I felt the same way when it came to people we were close to. I didn’t remember how many times we’d had Danny and his family over for dinner and cards, or the whole huge group of my dad’s friends over for a barbeque out back. I loved having the people I cared about around me, joking and laughing and having a good time. It made me feel a part of something bigger, and reminded me that I’d come a long way from the girl who’d had no one but her little sister when the state had come to take us away.

“What do you do, Stan?” Mike asked.

“Body work,” my dad replied, lifting a hand to cover the way he spoke with food in his mouth. “Cars mostly, some bikes. Slowin’ down, lately, though.”

“He’s good,” I chimed in, nodding. “I’ve seen some of the work he’s done.”

“It’s mostly just repairs,” my dad clarified, smiling at me. “But every once in a while I get something cool to work on. Retirees coming in to get their hot rods prettied up.”