Page 4 of Made For Me

“What are you doing here?” I walk toward the cabinet where the mugs are kept and take out one, then head over to pour myself a coffee.

“You literally texted me last night and said you wanted to come work out with me,” my father reminds me, and I just look at him like he has two heads.

“I did?” I take a sip of the hot black coffee. “Are you sure?”

He just glares at me. “Of course, I’m sure,” he hisses, grabbing his phone from his back pocket.

“I mean, I’m not saying that I didn’t text you.” I hide the smile behind the mug. “I’m just saying you have sometimes not read the whole thing.”

“Chase fucking Grant,” he snarls with his teeth clenched together, “do not fucking play with me.”

“I mean, last time I asked you to grab me a latte,” I remind him, “and you grabbed me a ladle.”

“That was your mother’s fault.” He points his phone at me. “She read it wrong.”

“Okay, but you didn’t think to yourself, wait, what the hell would he need a ladle for?” I ask him, and he just shakes his head.

“You could have been making soup!” he shouts and throws up his hands. “Regardless, this is the text you sent me.”

“Read it,” I urge him and he looks down and squints. He moves the phone farther away from his face. “Hey, Dad, it’s Chase.” He reads the first line and then looks at me. “I also have caller ID.” He makes a face at me, and I can’t help but laugh. “Are you going to work out tomorrow? If you are going after ten, let me know. I’ll come, and you can pick me up…” His voice trails off. “Well.”

“So I guess that…” I push away from the counter and just stare at him. His look is the same one he used to give me when we were growing up. It’s the look kids hate to see on their parents’ faces. It’s the look that says, “Don’t play with me.” “I’m going to go change and be ready.”

“Good idea,” he says, getting up. “Great idea.”

“But just so you know, I said if you go after…” I say over my shoulder, and just like that, I feel something hit my head.

When I look back at him, I see an orange lying on the floor. “Still got my aim.” He folds his arms over his chest. “Now, hurry up.”

CHAPTER3

Julia

I hear the sound of feet running toward the bedroom, and I turn off my phone, placing it on the side table. I pull the covers up to my neck and close my eyes, pretending to be asleep. I hear the door opening, and then they try to whisper. “We have to be secret,” Bianca says.

“I know,” Bailey replies even louder than Bianca. I hear their feet getting closer and closer to the bed, and when I feel them close enough, I jump out of bed and roar, scaring the shit out of them. Their eyes go big, and their hands rise to the sky as they scream at the top of their lungs and run from the room. “She’s a monster!”

I can’t help but laugh as I get off the bed and grab my phone, then walk out of the bedroom. “What the hell is wrong with you?” Michael says, holding the twins in his hands. “They are shaking.”

“What’s wrong with me?” I point at myself. “What’s wrong with you standing in front of me half-naked?” My face grimaces. “You need to respect the common areas, Michael.” I walk past him and go down the stairs.

“What common areas? This is my house,” he calls down the stairs. “Jillian!” he yells for her, and I hear her mumble to shut up.

“Daddy,” Bailey says, “is she a fucking goof?” I can’t help but snort and look up the stairs at him.

“Fucking goof,” Bianca repeats.

“Jillian.” I sing her name. “Michael taught the kids a bad word.”

Michael gasps. “I did not.” Then he looks at the girls and says, “I told you guys that is a bad word. Mommy is going to put soap in all our mouths.”

“I’ll start the coffee,” I offer. “Who wants pancakes?”

“Me,” Bailey says, squirming to get out of Michael’s arms, followed by Bianca.

I wait for them to walk down the steps, one of them on each side holding on to the railing. When they first bought this house and had Jamieson, Michael thought he should put in a slide for when he got older. The first time the boy fell down two steps, Max, his father, came in and checked to see if they could put in an elevator. Needless to say, Jillian was able to talk them off the ledge. “Auntie Juju,” Bailey shares, “you aren’t a fucking goof.”

“Thank you,” I say, holding out my hand. “But that is a really bad word, and it hurts people’s feelings.” I squat down in front of her. “So how about we not say it and instead say something else?” I think about what else they can say. “Like a flying gremlin.”

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