Page 57 of Waiting for Her

Hazel rushes over, jumping into my arms and I lift her up, pressing my face into her hair and holding her tightly.

Just what I needed.

I lift my head and look to my mom. “Thank you,” I tell her, and she nods, smiling.

“A spider attacked you?” Hazel says, her adorable hands holding both sides of my face, wide eyes looking at me with concern. I may or may not have accidentally transferred my fear of spiders to her.

“Almost. I barely made it out alive,” I tell her, my own eyes wide but my tone teasing.

She giggles and squirms, so I put her down. At six years old, she’sso overme holding her. Cue me rolling my eyes.

“Mommy said you live by Grady?”

Mom has the decency to at least look slightly sheepish.

“Yes, it appears I do,” I murmur.

Before I can stop her, my little pint-sized cherub of a sister darts out the door to the deck. I look at my mom and she quickly diverts her eyes. Apparently, she didn’t hold anything back in telling Hazel why they were coming over.

“Grady! Grady! Over here! I’m over here, Grady!” Hazel hollers, standing on her tip toes, waving her arms around.

My life.

Mom chuckles.

“Suck it up, buttercup. Time to face the music.”

“Those better be your chocolate caramel oatmeal bars,” I tell her, pointing to the container still nestled in her hands, like she’s going to be selfish and hold them hostage.

“They are.”

“Sucking up?”

She shrugs. “Making you feel better.”

“Thank you,” I tell her and walk over to get a hug that I desperately need. Mom gives thebesthugs ever.

“I have a confession,” she tells me, wincing slightly as I begin digging into the container for the perfect bar. I love the ones in the middle, they have the gooiest deliciousness.

I groan. “What now?”

“I told your brothers.”

I pause, a bar already halfway to my mouth.

“Told them what, exactly?”

“I explained your living situation?” she says like it’s a question.

“Mom. We were off the phone for thirty minutes. Three. Zero. What the heck!”

“I’m sorry! I was excited!”

I don’t even know how to respond to her at this moment, so I don’t. Instead, I look out to the deck to see Hazel is standing on the bottom of the short deck railing, leaning over the side.

Reluctantly, I walk out and stand behind her. Grady’s standing on the other side of the fence that lines my yard.

“What are you doing over there, squirt?”

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