Page 5 of Forget Me Not

“Finally pick a name?” She comes up closer to his side. “I sent you a list. All Mags approved.”

“I saw.” He bites his lip, like he’s trying to keep the rest of his thoughts from passing through. “Gotta tell ya, I don’t think Marie’s gonna name her baby ‘Smorgasbord’.”

She gasps, seriously affronted. “Why not? Are you kidding me?! That baby of yours is going to be a delicious variety of ethnicities bundled up in one sweet nibble of joy which will be devoured the second you roll up with him or her at this house. You see the way Ma is around chubby cheeks. I can’t believe Marie didn’t like it. That was one of my top choices.”

“God help us all if you ever reproduce,” Nadine mutters dryly, smacking her ass as she walks past with a tray of sliced tomatoes and mozzarella.

“No need to worry there.” Magdalene pretends to puke all over herself. Then pokes B, andalmostlaughs. “Can you imagine?”

“You as a mother?” He chooses this specific turn in the conversation to point to me. “Have you met Cooper?”

She marches up to me. “You the crack-whore baby no one wants?”

Never had anyone put it quite like that. “Uh-huh.”

“Sweet. Me, too.” She raises her hand up above her head. “High five!”

I do it, but only because I’m too confounded by this entire interaction to question it.

“Don’t call people crack-whore babies,” Nadine scolds. “At least not until they know you better.” She turns toward me, tilting her head apologetically, “She has a very dark sense of humor. Tried to love it out of her, but it didn’t work.” She shrugs. “Chocolate helps though.”

This family is so fucking weird.

“So, you, like, take in the crack-whore babies or something? Your mom collects a large variety, Mr. B gets the troubled boys, and babies are yours?”

“I could be the crack-whore baby mama. I can see why you’d think that. Buuut I hate kids, so no.” She lays nearly flat across the counter to stretch and reach the grapes I’d assumed were out of reach from where we’re positioned.

“Which is why it’s so handy you’re not a kid,” Mr. B chimes in with a frightening sort of enthusiasm.

“No, now I’m the crack-whore’s teenager. Or, suspected crack-whore. She wasn’t exactly forthcoming during labor regarding her crack-whoring tendencies.” I don’t know why I’m still having this conversation. Maybe it helps me deny what his statement was implying. I’m not just here for lasagna. I’m here to meet Magdalene. My new foster mom. Though she’s hardly old enough to be my mother. Maybe an aunt. Probably closer to big sister.

“She looks scared,” Magdalene observes bluntly.

“We’re all a little scared,” Nadine retorts. She comes back around, squeezing my shoulder, “She’s got a bad knee on the left. If she gets out of hand, one swift kick will take her right out,” she whispers loudly, making sure everyone can hear her.

I laugh before I can stop myself.

“Ma!” This time Magdalene’s outrage is purely for show. She’s smirking, no longer bothering to hide her amusement with this circus.

“It’s true,” Mr. B confirms. “Plus, she’s ticklish.” He jams his fingers up into her armpit and she squirms. “Right here.”

Magdalene squeals, slapping his hand away and running out of his reach while he chases her around the island until their mother intervenes. I’ve never seen anything like it. Ever. Family. Foster kids who made it. Who have a home to come back to. I thought my chance to find that for myself had come and gone, but sitting here, almost as if I belong, part of me can’t help but wonder if there’s still time after all.

CHAPTER FOUR

“Just talked to B,” Mags announces, having magically appeared in my doorway. I’ve been at her place less than forty-eight hours and I already know privacy’s not a thing around here. But unlike some of the other places I’ve lived, there’s no creep factor involved. Just no sense of boundaries whatsoever.

“What did he say? Are they letting Gun out?” I’m off my bed and on my feet in no time. I don’t know why, it’s not like I’m going anywhere. I guess I’d just like to. My every instinct is driving me to move to wherever he is.

“We didn’t talk about Gun,” she says, as if the thought never even crossed her mind.

I feel like my jaw just dropped to the floor. “What?”

“What would there be to talk about?” Gun’s in my room. Smirking. GUN. IS. HERE.

I leap for him, body-slamming him into a rib crushing hug which he’s kind enough to reciprocate. “You scared me this time,” I whisper, my face buried in the crook of his neck. “That was too long, too close of a call.” I lift my head to meet his eyes. They’re serious. Tired. But there’s no anger in them tonight. “No more getting in trouble,” I say, hoping to take advantage of my clear vulnerability and back him into striking a deal.

“No more getting busted,” he agrees, nodding. He doesn’t really think I missed the underlying message of his statement. Not getting busted isn’t exactly like not getting into trouble. But, tonight’s not the night to get into that.

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