Page 18 of Curves and Cradles

“Yes, but I have the car seat.”

“I have one, too.” I lead Stella, still gripping my finger tightly, to my F150 at the curb.

“You bought a car seat?” Jane asks.

“Yeah. It should be a good one, too. The sales clerk said it was a top seller, and the fireman who installed it agreed it was safe.”

Her mouth opens and closes a few times. She looks like an adorable fish. “You went to the firehouse?”

I shrug. “That’s what it suggested on the parenting site.” I lift Stella in my arms and open the passenger-side doors.

Jane is still eyeing me like I’ve grown an extra head. She pushes me out of the way to fasten all the various buckles. “I’m still mad at you. Don’t forget that.”

I chuckle. “I wouldn’t dream of it.” I wait a beat before asking, “Should I ask about the rubber chicken?”

“You know, you’d think there would be an interesting story there, but not so much. It’s just her favorite.”

chaptereleven

Jane

Two days later, I stop walking on the sidewalk and turn to face Kevin. “I’m going to apologize now for anything that might be said in the next few hours.”

He chuckles.

“No, you don’t understand. My family is crazy. And loud. And crazy. And not always nice.”

“I fight terrorists for a living, Janie. I think I’ll be okay.”

I blow out a breath. “Okay, then.”

I don’t bother knocking. It’s unlikely that anyone is inside, anyway. I lead Kevin through my parent’s living room and out the back door onto the patio.

“Where’s my big girl?” my dad asks, already squatting. His apron bunches up, and he holds out his free arm while keeping his spatula away.

Stella runs into his arms. “Pop Pop!” she squeals. “Where Noodle?”

I fight the urge to laugh.

“Noodle?” Kevin whispers beside me.

“It’s what she calls my mom, but no one knows why. Mom kept trying to get her to call her MiMi—which is what my nephews call her—but Stella will have none of it. She’s Noodle.”

“I take it I shouldn’t laugh about that.”

“Not if you want my mom to like you.”

He nods.

“Come on. Let’s get this over with.” I walk further into the yard and sit on one of the benches at the seven-foot table.

“Boys! Boys!” Kathleen yells, then she swears. “Justin, stop them before they drown the cat.”

Her husband, Justin, runs off to do her bidding.

Kathleen turns her gaze to me, and her eyes widen when she sees Kevin. Here it comes.

“Oh. My. God.” Kathleen says. “Who do we have here?”

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