Page 11 of Three Pucking Words
Inevitably, I did none of that when the day actually came. Scrapbook forgotten, I let Max’s mother influence whatshethought would be best for me and her son. I should have put my foot down on a few occasions, but I never did. I’m a people pleaser at heart. Which is why I agreed to having carrot cake with cream cheese frosting even though I hate the flavor. Just like I agreed to having our ceremony in a church despite not being religious. The only time I’d ever stepped foot into a church before that day was when Mila dragged me to a haunted house that the Presbyterian church was having. They passed out big candy bars, so Mila wasn’t going to miss it.
Isabella puts her hands on her hips and directs her forced glare at her husband. “Don’t you start with me today. We’re going to have a long night together if you keep talking that nonsense.”
Both of their Brooklyn accents get thicker when they’re bickering. It’s something I’ve missed about the city over the last few years. “It smells delicious,” I tell Manuel. “Is Mila here? I thought she would have been helping prep for dinner hours.”
Manuel rounds his workspace to drop an arm around my shoulders. He presses a kiss against the top of my head. “It’s good to see you, little moon. Are you going to eat while you’re here? I’m sure Mila told you it’s our specials night, and Isabella made her famous three-cheese eggplant lasagna.”
He knows my two biggest weaknesses are dairy and carbs, which are two things my doctor has continuously told me to avoid since being diagnosed with polycystic ovarian syndrome. But a girl has to live. “I might stay for a bit. My schedule changed a little today.”
I don’t bore them with the admission that I ran from the man Imayhave harbored a tiny crush on for years. Crushes are innocent. They don’t mean anything. But if I told my pseudo parents that I bolted like a coward from said crush, they would question me. Worse, they would tell me to stop lying to myself. Because the crush wasn’t tiny at all, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to admit that out loud.
Mila, though, has no hesitation announcing to her parents that I’m a chicken. “Her plans changed because she ran away from a sexy hockey player,” Mila interjects, walking into the kitchen with an empty milk crate. When I helped them at the restaurant ages ago, I’d stock the waiter’s station with fresh glasses, plates, and silverware from the dishwasher using the same crate in her hands.
Isabella perks up, her eyes glistening with mischief. “A hockey player, hmm?”
Mila’s parents know that I’m not close with my father, but he’s kind of a big deal around here. Even if he made a piss-pour dad, he makes one hell of a hockey coach. Plus, Manuel is a season passholder. He doesn’t get to use it often because he’s busy here, but he goes to home games whenever he can.
I shoot a glare at my friend before turning to her mother. “My father wanted one of his players to hang out with me at the aquarium because he couldn’t make it. I didn’t want to hang out with a stranger all day, so I bailed.”
Isabella studies me with a curious but pensive expression on her face. “And this boy was attractive?”
Manuel sighs. “Is that all you care about?” he questions, shaking his head. “I’m interested inwhothis player is. Tell me, little moon. Is it someone I know of?”
I have no doubt that Manuel would recognize Bodhi’s name, but I don’t want to tell him.
Isabella shrugs innocently. “I’m curious, that’s all. I was sorry to hear about you and Max, mia figlia. But I’ve always thought you could do better. He was too self-centered. Moving home could present you with better opportunities.”
Better opportunities.“The only opportunities I need to focus on are employment,” I reply easily, earning a nod of agreement from Mila’s father. “Boys aren’t on my radar.” Puck makes a sound from the other side of the door to remind me he’s there. “Except for you, baby boy!” I call out.
Mila walks over to me and wraps her freakishly long arms around my torso, squeezing me until I can’t breathe. Peeling myself away, I give her a dubious look. “Jeez, what are you on? Ease up on the spinach, Popeye.”
My best friend since childhood laughs. “It’s all of those Pilates classes I’ve been telling you about. Between that and cycling, I’ve never been in better shape.”
She does look amazing, but that’s no surprise. Mila was on the cross-country team and cheerleading squad in school. She’s always kept in good shape. I try not to be jealous of her toned body, but that little green monster nudges my consciousness thinking about all the failed fad diets and workout programs I’ve tried to shed weight. Unsuccessfully, of course.
It isn’t like I hate my curves—they’re what makes me,me. But there was once a time when I was skinner, with a lot more energy than I have now. And after years of going from doctor to doctor and being told my only problem was my weight, diet, and stress, I finally found someone who was willing tolistenand diagnose me with polycystic ovarian syndrome, or PCOS for short. It explained the weight gain and struggle to lose it. Thanks to my hormone imbalance, I also deal with insulin resistance which makes it hard to shed weight no matter what I do. I used to go to the gym seven days a week and do a mixture of cardio andstrength training, but nothing seemed to help. So, eventually, I gave up.
Not long after, I’d had my first big seizure since I was a child. At the time, the doctors couldn’t determine if it was more serious than something induced by stress. Something. random. But two months later, I’d had a second one. A month after that, my third. Except that time, I’d hit my head on the edge of the counter on my way down because it’d come out of nowhere and was sent to the emergency room for ten stitches and a CT scan. My neighbor had to take me because we couldn’t get in touch with Max, who was at a bar with friends at the time.
I’d been alone in the hospital for almost three hours, scared, confused, and alone, before he finally came. I’d been sitting with my epilepsy diagnosis when he came into the room looking genuinely worried for the first time maybe…ever.
The problem with epilepsy is that you never know when another episode is going to occur. There are signs—ones I’ve learned to listen to that I used to ignore in the past. But they can come in waves or not happen for months at a time. The feat that comes with the unknown isn’t talked about enough. Neither is the bone-deep fatigue that lingers after each episode that makes existing ten times harder.
But one thing I’ve learned is that having a seizure disorder means you have to be strong, because if you allow it to take over your life then you don’t really live at all.
That’s not how I want to live.
Unfortunately, I also learned that women with epilepsy have a higher risk of developing reproductive disorders like the one I have. A double whammy of suck. Lucky me.
The only good thing I got out of my condition is Puck. He’s been my constant companion through thick and thin for the past five years. When everybody else failed me in life, Puck stayed by my side.
Mila winds her elbow around mine and guides us out of the kitchen. Puck instantly stands when we near him, so I grab his leash and let him follow us to the booth in the corner where we always sit and gossip. “I still can’t believe you ditched Bodhi-Freaking-Hoffman at the aquarium. This was your chance, Honor! Do you know what dirty things half the population would do to that man if they had the opportunity? Hell, he’s one ofmyhall passes.”
I refrain from rolling my eyes at her. “What does your girlfriend think of that?” I question, sliding into the booth and setting Puck’s leash down beside me.
Mila grins. “We’re both bisexual, so GiGi gets it. Who knows, maybe Bodhi is into threesomes. You could ask him for—”
“Not happening” I cut her off, snorting at her ridiculousness. “In fact, I have zero interest in being around him at all.”
