Page 38 of Dizzy

I shake my head no, bite my bottom lip, playing it up. There’s a bulge in his jeans. I’m turning him on. I got my clothes on and he’s not touching me, but he wants me. Bad. It’s a giddy feeling.

“I like your hair down. Take that rubber band out.” Actually, it’s a scrunchie I stole from a basket in the bathroom.

He’s being real bossy. I should tell him where he can stick it, but for some reason, it doesn’t make me mad. It would have coming from Rylan or the few boys I went out with after.

Zings whiz around my belly. I slowly tug my hair loose, combing my fingers through. My scalp tingles.

“Keep it down,” he says. There’s a clatter from the kitchen. Finally, he shoots a glance over his shoulder. “Pizza’s here. Come eat.”

He doesn’t have to ask me twice. I can smell it now, and I’m starving.

I hop up and follow him down the hall. The boys are already eating, sitting at the small kitchen table, watching the TV on the counter. No plates.

Dizzy takes the chair at the head and grabs a slice.

Well, when in Rome. I help myself. It’s all mushroom, half pepperoni. Parker’s eaten almost all the pepperoni slices already.

“Carson. Go get Daddy a beer.” Dizzy polishes off the crust of his first piece. There are crumbs in his beard. He catches me looking, and he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “You want one?”

“Sure.”

“Two!” he shouts.

Carson’s already in the fridge. He sprints back, sliding the last few feet to the table and slapping the bottles in his dad’s hands. Clearly, he’s had practice.

I munch as Dizzy cracks open a beer and hands it to me. No one’s talking. The TV’s blaring. Pro wrestling.

Parker picks the mushrooms off his slice and drops them in the box. Dizzy scoops them up and eats ‘em. The boys’ chewing is loud and wet.

So this is how it is in a house of men.

Once my brother Robbie left, the only males in the house were my nephews, and they were out-numbered three to one. If this were Mama’s house, everyone would be talking at once, laughing, carrying on. At least two kids would be crawling under the table, and there’d be a baby cryin’. Mama would be hollering from the kitchen for someone to come help.

My chest aches. Homesickness is a mind fuck. It can make you miss misery, remember it fondly.

If this were Mama’s house, no one would be letting me get a word in edgewise. There wouldn’t be enough food to go around. I’d be stressed about Lula tumbling down the stairs in her walker again since no one bothered to put back the baby gate.

I’m not missing anything. And they sure as shit aren’t missing me. The shed proved that beyond a shadow of a doubt.

I let myself relax in the chair and take a deep swig of beer. Even with Parker tearing through the pizza, there’s gonna be enough for seconds. There’s a whole other box underneath the first. I don’t mind wrestling.

Carson goes to help himself to a third pop. That kid’s gonna be wired.

As the new house mouse, the good news is there’ll be no dishes to wash.

Life’s okay.

It’s amazing how good you feel with your stomach full of cheese and dough. The whole world takes on a more forgiving light. I yawn. Where am I gonna sleep tonight? If I get the sofa, there’ll be plenty of pillows, that’s for sure.

What if Dizzy expects me to sleep in his bed? Put out? The thought makes me kind of sad. I shove it aside and let my eyelids drift shut.

“You’re tired.” Dizzy’s gruff voice shakes me from my food coma.

“Yeah,” I mumble through another yawn.

“Where’s she sleeping?” Parker asks, face pinched. So far, he’s my least favorite.

“Well, we got a choice. Carson and you can double up. Or you can take the sofa downstairs.”

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