Page 78 of A Little Twist

While I want to stake some claim, the truth is, Alex and I have been playing a game. I told a lie, and he saved me from being embarrassed.

From the start, we said the most important thing is Pinky, and what’s best for her.

I know what it’s like not to have a mother, not to know her, not to feel like you matter to her. When I was a girl, I only prayed for one thing—my dream that one day she’d come back and want to be with me.

Then I’d be like all the other kids.

Then I’d be normal.

Pinky looks up to where we’re standing awkwardly, and she crawls on her little knees across the vinyl, sliding her hand into mine and looking up at this new woman.

“Who are you?” Her voice is so direct.

Jessica’s eyes widen with her smile. “Hello, Penelope. I’m Jessica.”

P’s rosebud lips twist, and she tilts her head to the side. “Do you like Miss Piggy?”

Jessica exhales a breath I recognize as relief. “Absolutely. I think Miss Piggy is an icon of humor and feminine strength.”

Pinkie’s little brow furrows, and I know she doesn’t understand a word her mother just said.

Still, she nods. “Miss Piggy is not like Myrtle. Miss Piggy says, ‘Hi-YAH!’”

Jessica laughs softly. “Yes, she does.”

“Jessica’s going to have dinner with us.” I hesitate, glancing at her. “Where would you like to sit?”

“I don’t want to intrude…”

“You can sit by Alex.” I lean forward, speaking quietly. “That way, you can see her better.”

Grateful eyes rise to mine. “You’re very kind.”

Forcing a smile, I don’t feel kind. I feel jealous. I feel like a possessive intruder, and I want to fight for the family of which I’ve only had a taste.

My heart aches, and my stomach is tight, because I also feel like a grown woman who was once a little girl left behind, and if I can save Pinky from that insecurity, I will.

Because I love her.

She’s not less than or broken. She’s funny and strong.

We order another margarita for Jessica and steak tacos with street corn. Throughout our meal, her eyes continue to drift to Penelope, who’s happily eating her street corn and bobbing her head side to side to the Spanish-style music playing overhead.

Alex’s eyes continue to drift to me, but I can’t meet his gaze. My heart might break.

I’m hot and cold and I’m not hungry and I have no idea what this new dynamic means.

When the bill finally arrives, I dip my napkin in the glass of water to wipe the sauce off Pinky’s cheeks.

“We need to talk.” Alex’s voice is flat.

“Yes…” I quickly answer at the same time as Jessica says, “I agree.”

My face flames red, and I have no idea who he was addressing just now.

“Right,” is all he says.

I help Pinky out of the booth, holding her hand as we head for the door. We’ll go back to the house, and I’ll give her a bath like always. Then when she’s in bed, I’ll retire to my garage apartment so they can talk.

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