Page 57 of When We Met

I raise an eyebrow and turn to face her. “Why?” I dare to ask.

“I’m making a mom.”

“A what?”

“A mom,” she deadpans, still staring at me. Then she clanks the spoon to the pot. “I need milk and blue sparkles.”

“Why blue sparkles?”

“Her eyes have to be blue, like mines.”

I grin. “What color is her hair gonna be?” Don’t say blonde like your mom.

She stares at my hair and then reaches for it. I’m not sure if she’s going to rip it out or what. “Dis color.”

“Auburn?”

She nods. My heart melts. “Do you want her to look like me?”

Another nod. And a grin.

I wrap one arm around her. “Well, let’s see what we can do.”

At the stove, I notice Sev is still itching, and the hives that were on her cheek have moved over to her eye. “Do they still itch?”

“No.” Only she’s itching them and clearly annoyed by having to do so.

“Why are you making a mom?” I ask, pouring milk and the blue sprinkles Camdyn hands me.

Camdyn stares up at me. “We want a mommy for Christmas.”

And my heart just burst in two.

“We asked Santa for one,” she goes on to say. “I hope he brings her to us.”

“Why do you want a mom so bad?” I feel like an idiot for asking that.

“We don’t have one.” Camdyn shrugs. “Do you?”

Pain hits my chest. “I do, but she’s not a very good one.”

“Why?” Sev asks, still itching. Now she has her shirt pulled up, itching her belly.

She fucked my boyfriend, but I don’t say that. “Sometimes moms aren’t what you want them to be.”

Sev looks at the pot with milk and blue sprinkles. “Our mommy’s pretty.”

I stare at the pot. “She sure is. Now what do we do?”

Sev breaths in deep and waves her hand, holding the spoon over the pot. “Apple camera bubba, brings us a mommy!”

I love that she says apple camera bubba instead of abracadabra.

“I don’t think that’s what you say.” Camdyn gets down from the chair she pushed over to the stove. “Can I have hot chocolate?”

“Sure.”

They show me where hot chocolate is, and while they’re enjoying some, I notice Barron approaching the house in his truck. My heart flips around in my chest, struggling to find a steady beat. Crap. I’m still wearing his shirt. I’d completely forgotten about my clothes in the washing machine.

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