Page 11 of Tuesday

“You’re coming home with me.” I then think that might sound bossy, so I add, “If that’s OK with you.”

I’m not sure if a two year old child understands what I’m saying, or if she can even talk back, but I take her nod as affirmation. The Manwitch said she was ours, so she is.

“Let’s go. There’s some people you need to meet.”

Rhodie

We got the message from Chewy that she’s on her way back so instead of going directly home with all the stuff we bought we instead split off. Blanche, who told me she’s “nesting” decided to have the only prospect we have meet her at mine and Chewy’s cabin so they can build the furniture for the kid. Our kid.

“You gonna be ready for this?” Gus asks, at my side as we walk into the clubhouse after pulling in with more kid shit for our rooms here.

Looking over at the man who will one day be my brother-in-law, I give him my honest answer, “Gus, I have never been ready for anything ever since Chewy blew into my life. The best I can hope for is to hold on tight and ride Chewy’s wave because I fucking love that woman, but shit, I’d be lying if I didn’t want to tan her ass.”

Gus makes a weird growling sound while Tav makes a gagging noise. “Could have gone a lifetime without hearing that.”

I grin, slapping him a little too hard on the shoulder before heading to my room to find TumTum and Chef already in there, having unboxed the crib already.

“Boys, let’s get this shit done!”

* * *

“What in the fuck is wrong with this thing?” Chef growls in that goddamn panty-melting voice.

“You put the wrong part in! See? Part 1D goes into 16C?” TumTum leans toward Chef, finger pointing at something on the fucking poster sized instruction sheet.

“You better fuck off with that instruction sheet!” Chef tries to snatch the instructions away and there is nothing I can do because I’m having my own mental breakdown trying to figure out this fucking rocking contraption in front of me.

“Rhodie! You better tell him to fuck right off before I shoot him!” Chef threatens, TumTum backing away, both hands up placatingly.

“Hey boy- whoa. Are you guys OK?” Lovely’s soft voice is full of concern as she stares at the carnage in my room.

Thank fuck my dad and his cronies had enough forethought to make the clubhouse fucking huge, including all our rooms, because my room looks like a fucking bombsite. There are screws and metal parts all over the floor, bits of wood that at some stage will be the bed our kid will sleep in. I’m surrounded by plastic and a poofy cushion thing. We must look like shit because Lovely carefully steps into the room, pity shining in her dark eyes. Her mouth opens as if to say something, before closing. She does this a few more times before she plants her hands on her hips, a look of determination coming over her.

“OK, you have around an hour before Chewy returns, and if she’s off doing what we think she’s doing-”

“She is. My dad is home tomorrow, Chewy called him to let him know he’s going to be a grandpa.” I can’t help the smile that takes over my face.

Lovely nods, her dark hair swaying. “In that case we need this taken care of. Chef, step away. Go get a drink or some fresh air. TumTum, hand me those instructions. You do the same. Meet me back here in 5 minutes and we’ll get this crib built. Without arguing.”

Both men get up and move toward the door, only grumbling a little. Well, OK, grumbling a lot, but Lovely is too fucking sweet to get pissed at, so instead they’ll do as the nice lady says and come back in five.

“Without their angry vibes in here you can finish building your swing cradle,” Lovely says, quickly scanning the instructions before piling up the screws.

“My what?”

“That thing you’re building. It’s a baby swing cradle.” I must stare at her blankly because she lets out a sigh before pointing to the box, “The UFO seat thing that Juno sits in.”

I stare at her, then the front of the box, realizing what I’m meant to be making was right there. On the box.

“Rhodie, did you even read the instructions?” Lovely’s lips twitch in the corners. I just know she wants to laugh, but instead she just raises her brows at me.

“No,” I grumble, “I’ve had a lot on my mind.”

She pats my hand, then continues sorting through crib pieces, laying them out just so, before reading the instruction manual again. Again, she finds matching pieces and lays them out in a neat pile, and I watch her. When she first arrived she was beaten down, frightened of a world she had no idea about. But instead of cutting herself off, hiding away in the cabin next to mine and Chewy’s, she’s here. Bossing around men twice her size. She’s out running the front desk of Devil’s Big Tow, calling in debts. She’s raising her little girl, helping with the other babies and kids. She’s a good friend of all the Ol Ladies and I know, deep down I know, that my brother feels more for her than he thinks he should. I also know that he treats her like she’s the woman we first met. Timid, shy, scared. But she’s far from that. I don’t know why I never saw it before, but Lovely has a quiet strength about her, quite the opposite to Marx, but equally impressive.

“Lovely?”

“Hmm?” She answers distractedly, still concentrating on her task.

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