Page 124 of Myla: The Hawthornes

“We’re good.”

“Your words say good,” she joked. “Your tone says not-so-good.”

“They’re great, you busybody.”

Noel giggled.

“She’s just pissed at me because she wants to go out with Lou and Frankie tonight, and I said she needed to take someone with her.” I lifted my hand when Noel opened her mouth. “Doesn’t have to be me. They could bring Bas or one of the other boys.”

“The fact that you think that you can win that fight is adorable,” she said easily.

“Those three nutcases aren’t goin’ out and getting’ hammered without someone watchin’ their backs.”

“Yes,youknow that,” Noel said. “AndIknow that. EvenMylaknows that. But you knew before you said anything about it that she was going to argue. Why didn’t you just send someone with them without trying to order her around about it? Now, it’s a fight. She’s not going to give an inch.”

“That makes no sense.”

“Neither does you fighting with her over something you both know will happen anyway,” she said smugly. “I think you like it.”

“Like what?”

“Arguing with Myla. You’re into it.”

“It’s irritatin’ as hell.”

“You’re still into it.”

“I’m not.”

Noel just shrugged. “Whatever you say.”

“If you could irritate Titus once in a while, I’d feel a whole lot better,” I said, lifting a balloon to my mouth.

“I irritate him plenty,” she replied, raising her eyebrows.

I looked at her skeptically over the top of the rapidly growing balloon.

“All relationships are different,” Noel said with a smile as she pulled the banner out of the bag. “We usually just argue in private.”

“That’s fair,” I replied, tying off the balloon.

“I like you and Myla together,” Noel said with a hum. “You’re a good fit.”

“Can’t argue with you there.”

“But you need to learn to pick your battles,” she scolded gently.

“That might work if she wasn’t such a lunatic,” I replied.

Noel laughed.

We spent another twenty minutes hanging the balloons where the little girls couldn’t reach them and the HappyBirthday banner across the opening between the kitchen and the living room. As we finished, Titus let himself in the back door.

“Looks good in here, sugar,” he said, looking around.

“Thanks, baby,” I replied flatly.

“You got roped into helpin’?” he asked, smiling.

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