Page 97 of Lost in Love

I look back at Kelly. “What the hell?”

“Can I talk to you?” Aunt Dee says, eyes wide and staring at Oliver on the ground.

“Yeah, sure. I’m not busy,” I snort, trying to pick my floppy son off the ground.

Aunt Dee swallows nervously. “I think I might have put too much alcohol in the cake pops.”

My eyes slide to Kelly’s, who shakes her head, then back to Aunt Dee. Kelly smiles and tells her, “The alcohol cooks out of them, Aunt Dee. It should be okay.”

She leans in, whispering, “I didn’t bake the rumin. I added it after the fact.” Her wide eyes slide to Oliver, who rolls over and frowns. “How’d I get on the roof?”

Aunt Dee looks to me. “Do you think maybe it was too much?”

“I don’t know.” I point to Oliver on the ground. “You tell me.”

Aunt Dee chuckles. “At least we got his first time out of the way.”

Thirty

Better Man

(The best man doesn’t always win. Ask Jonas.)

With puddlesof water on tablecloths, dresses and tuxes drenched in water, you’d think this wedding is done for, right? Nope. We’re in Texas. Rules don’t apply. I have a feeling it’s just getting started. The preacher is talking with Aunt Dee, hopefully not eating her cake pops, and the bride’s dad is fuming. He also happens to be my father-in-law and hasn’t said a word to me yet.

Don’t be so surprised. He still hates me.

“I can’t believe this bullshit. I paid for a wedding,” he grumbles, drinking straight from a bottle of whiskey. “She’d better marry someone tonight.”

In the midst of Kelly and I putting our drunk ten-year-old to bed to sleep it off, guess who comes out of hiding? Justice and Kelsey. After three hours. I have no idea what they were doing in there, but if I had to guess, fighting. And maybe fucking, because in my experience, they usually go hand in hand.

Speaking of fucking, I wish Kelly and I were alone because do you know what’s better than sex?

Make-up sex.

It’s a proven fact.

So I tell her my thoughts with my hand on her bare thigh. “Would it be frowned upon if we snuck upstairs?” Wrapping my arm around her chair, I peek down the front of her dress. “I think I need to see these hangy-down tits in my face.”

“Stop.” Smiling, she pushes me away playfully. “We can’t just sneak off. Oliver is drunk, Sevi is licking himself next to a dog, Fin spit on the preacher, and Hazel is twerking.”

I whip my head to the dance floor to see that my five-year-old daughter is in fact twerking. “Jesus Christ.” For some reason, I watch for a moment. Probably because I can’t look away. It’s like driving by a car accident, and you can’t help but look. “Make her stop,” I groan, covering my eyes.

Thankfully, Kelly grabs her and shows her how to line dance instead.

“Oh my God.” Kelsey flops down in the chair next to me, her dress puffing up like a balloon wrapped around her waist. “I’m freaking out.”

Not knowing what else to do, I hand her a cake pop. “Here. This might calm you down.”

Like a savage, she rips it from my hand and shoves the entire thing in her mouth at once, mumbling around the piece flying out her mouth and onto the table and my arm, “Kiss pulps.” In mouth-full translation, which I’m good at because I have kids, that translates to, “This helps.”

With a hard swallow, she finishes it and then stares at me, her blue eyes bloodshot and tired. “Is there rum in those?”

I nod. “Yep. Where the hell have you been for the last three hours?”

She looks through me; her attention is focused solely on the one leaning against the bar, drinking his problems away. “Detained.”

With a bottle of water in hand, believe me, I don’t need any more alcohol, I take a look at Kelsey’s appearance. Her hair’s all over the place, her mascara streaking down her cheeks and she’s shaking. “Are you okay?”

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