Page 7 of Forget Me Not

She smirks. “Fine. Do you need condoms? Because I’m maxed out on foster kids since before you got here. We’re not adding a baby to the mix.”

I almost choke. “No condoms,” I sputter, trying not to spit banana everywhere.

Mags raises a skeptical eyebrow. “Are you on the pill?”

I manage to swallow at last. “I’m not having sex.”

Her other brow rises to meet the first still hanging out right below her hairline. “Seriously?”

“Yes!” My face feels like it’s on fire. I don’t think I’ve ever been redder in my entire life.

She laughs. At me. “Alright, alright. No need to turn purple over it.” Mags goes to the sink and pours me a glass of water while I continue to cough and clear my throat. “So, is it like a brother sister thing?” She doesn’t sound like she’s buying that. “Because, I gotta tell you, I have a lot of brothers and none of them look at me the way Gun looks at you.”

Great. Now I’m choking on water. And I definitely just spit.

“He’s cute, in a scary sort of way. You don’t think he’s cute?” she rattles on, taking a dishtowel and dropping it on the floor and using her foot to dry up the water I sprayed. “Of course, you think he’s cute. That’s why you started blushing in the first place.” She picks the towel back up and I note how she places it right back onto the hook. Not using that to dry dishes later.

I clear my throat loudly. “Gun and I. Are. Just.Friends.”

“Sure, ya are.” She finally returns her attention to her coffee. “And me and B never made out in our parents’ van. In the garage. In the middle of the night. Before we were adopted and became brother and sister.”

“Ew.”

She taps the side of her mug with her index finger, studying me with a scrutiny I’m becoming accustomed to from her already. “Right, because if I decided tomorrow to adopt you and Gun, you would automatically feel as though you’ve been siblings your entire life. And all the blushing and wistful staring, that would just...cease to exist.”

“I didn’t blush because you mentioned Gun. I blushed because I’m not used to discussing my sex life with people.”

“So, you do have one of those,” she cuts in.

“No!” This is the last time I’m getting up early enough to have breakfast before school. Never again am I lingering around this kitchen.

“Then it’s the idea of sex you find embarrassing? Well, we need to make sure we put that on the list.”

Huh?

“What list?”

She actually retrieves a notepad and pen from a drawer. “The list of reasons you need therapy. It’s pretty long already, but from one crack-whore baby to another, that’s not exactly surprising.”

I blink. Again. “You know, I’m still never really sure when to be offended around you.”

“Can’t...tell...when...she’s...being...insulted,” she says in slow motion as she scribbles yet another line on my therapy to-do list.

“You have got to be kidding me! Making notes aboutmymental health? What about yours?”

“Oh, I have no mental health to speak of,” she deadpans, “I thought that was clear.”

“Getting clearer,” I snort, unable to decide between laughing and crying, ”tell me more about making out with your brother and I’ll be well prepared to spend the first ten sessions talking all aboutyou!”

She doesn’t even bat an eyelash. Just turns her attention back to her notepad.

“Can’t...tell...when...she’s...being...fuuuucked...with.” She looks up, grinning broadly.

“You suck.” I snatch my backpack from the counter. It’s new. It’s from Mags. She doesn’t suck hardly at all.

She yanks my straps, making us collide in an exuberant hug. “Go get your happy on.” She smacks a dramatic kiss on my cheek and releases me with a force that sends me halfway toward the front door. “I put KitKat’s in the bottom pocket. Just in case,” she calls out after me.

I’ve got my hand on the doorknob. “In case of what?”

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