Page 6 of Best Laid Plans

He wastes no time grilling me. “So, who’s the lucky loser tonight?”

“He’s not a loser. His name’s Kevin, and he’s twenty-nine and works in accounting.”

Nate scoffs. “Total loser. Bet he still lives at home too.”

I roll my eyes. “He does not. His profile says he lives in the suburbs just outside of Bay Ridge.”

“Suburbs totally equals his mom’s basement.”

“You dipshit, we live in South Alabama. We don’t have basements.”

Nate holds up his index finger and tips it my way. “False. They aren’t common here, but they exist.”

“Whatever. Your argument’s weak, and you know it.”

“Your argument’s weak,” he whines, attempting to mimic me in that annoying way only a sibling can do.

“Mama! Mama! I did the poops!”

The toilet flushes as I walk down the hall toward the bathroom. “You did?” I ask enthusiastically, clapping my hands.

Honest to God, if someone would’ve told my seventeen-year-old self that I would be this excited over poop in a few years, I would have laughed in their face—and I mean laughedhard.

“I did! And I wiped my butt too!”

I widen my eyes and give a little gasp. “Well, aren’t you just all grown? You know what this means right?” Tatum shakes her head. “It means…dance party!”

My little girl squeals and immediately we begin jumping around, waving our arms and stomping our feet. No doubt, we look nuts—but potty training this kid was tantamount to making water flow uphill. So, this is absolutely a dance-party-worthy feat.

At the sound of our commotion, Nate ventures back to the hallway, where we’re shaking what our mama gave us. Ever the doting uncle, he doesn’t come empty-handed. No, sir. He’s armed with a glass of chocolate milk topped with whipped cream and a swirly straw.

Tatum looks up at him, all doe-eyed, batting her lashes. “Dat’s for me?”

“Sure is. A little bird told me you’re using the potty like an old pro!”

“It’s true! I am!”

She reaches for the beverage, but I stop her. “Not so fast, Tater Tot. You gotta wash your hands first!”

Once she’s as germ-free as a three-year-old can be, we retreat to the living room, where she instantly snuggles up to my brother on the couch. “We watch Poppy?” she asks, reaching for her chocolate milk.

“Poppy?” he asks. “Oh! You mean those things with the hair!”

“Trolls,” I inform him through a laugh.

“Yeah. That.”

“It’s on Netflix,” I tell him, scooping up my purse from the table by the door. “Y’all have fun. I won’t be late—call me if you need me.” I walk over and press a kiss to Tatum’s whipped-cream-sticky cheek.

Nate’s voice stops me right as I’m about to step over the threshold. “Same goes for you. Call me if you need me.”

5

Natalie

Kevinand I met through FindLoveOnline. Yeah sure…judge me, but how else am I supposed to meet men? At the grocery store?Get real.That shit only happens in books and sitcoms. Initially when we made plans for tonight, he offered to pick me up, but I declined and offered to meet him there, for two reasons.

One: the last time a date picked me up from my apartment, my overprotective brother—who’s a cop, in case I forgot to mention—had his buddy run his tags and check him out. A gross misuse of power, if you ask me. Then again, homeboy ended up having a warrant out for his arrest. Turns out Paul liked to deal pot to high schoolers on his off days.

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