Page 12 of Save Me
I snort. “When are you going to stop calling me that?”
“Never,” she laughs.
We’re quiet for a few minutes, but I have something I desperately want to ask her. It’s eating at me, and I’ve never been the type of guy to not ask something because it might be embarrassing.
“What kind of a man are you looking for now that you’re a single mom?”
The question is out before I can stop it.
She looks like she’s interested in why I’m asking, but she keeps those comments to herself. Thank God; I don’t want toget into it with her right now. She’s going to ask questions that I can’t answer. “A man who gets involved with a single mother needs to realize there was a man there before her, who typically broke her heart in some way or another. He has to realize that a child is the most important thing in the world to her, and he has to think that child is just as important. If you aren’t prepared to date the child as well as the mother, you might as well forget it.”
Letting what she says sink in, I nod slowly. Most of that I figured, but it was nice hearing someone confirm my thoughts—to know I’m not far off from what I assumed.
She pushes at my side, looking up at me, even though she’s older. “Are you going to tell me why you asked?”
“Nope.” I drop my arm around her neck, giving her a hug. “See ya around, sis.”
“That’s so wrong, you shouldn’t do that to me,” she gives me a look. Out of all my siblings, she’s the meanest. “Uncle Gunner is leaving,” she yells loudly. “Everybody come and say goodbye!”
It’s on as all the kids look over, seeing me making a break for it. They are nothing if not focused when the situation calls for it. Their little legs are making quick work of the grass between me and them.
“Shit,” I laugh, sprinting into a run as everyone converges on me, but there’s more of them than there are of me. I’m tackled to the ground, covered in kids.
“Gotcha, Uncle Gunny,” I hear one of my nieces laugh as they tickle my armpits. It’s the most ticklish spot I have, and I laugh so hard I start to hyperventilate, tears of laughter streaming down my face. I wonder if Rosa has this with her dad; does anyone in her life get down on the ground and roughhouse with her? Does Amy have anyone to tease her, to find her ticklish spots and make her laugh?
As I look around at my family, I hope so. I’m lucky; I come from a good one. They care about me and love me. They acceptmy schedule, and they allow me to be the person I am. They’ve molded me into the best person I can be. Who does these things for Rosa and Amy?
“Gotcha, Gunner.” One of my nephews gets me in a headlock before I can block him.
“Help me!” I yell, hoping someone takes pity on me, but I have a feeling they aren’t going to. I can hear my mom and my siblings laughing at my expense.
The last thought I have before I give in to all of them is that Rosa would probably love this.
CHAPTER EIGHT
AMY
My alarm goes off early, the way I like it. Glancing out my bedroom window, I can see the sun just starting to rise in the distance. At one point in my life, I wished the sun would never rise again—that the whole world would be encapsulated in darkness to match how I was feeling. There wasn’t a light at the end of the tunnel, nothing that would pull me out of the hole I was in. Today, I love the sun, I love the alarm, and I’m thankful for the way I start my days.
Grabbing clothes, I head to my attached bathroom and get ready for my routine. I’ve gotten it down to a science. Brush my teeth, wash my face, put on my moisturizer, deodorant, and hair up in a ponytail. Then goes on the leggings, the sports bra, the tank top, and my socks. As I move out of the bathroom, I trek across the hardwood, stopping at my dresser to grab my Fitbit off its charger, and my cell phone.
Within fifteen minutes I’m down the stairs and in the kitchen. There, Eve is fixing her first cup of coffee.
“You can take a little longer today if you want,” she yawns loudly, stirring her creamer slowly. “I don’t have to be at work until ten.”
“That would be great. Do you want me to bring you some breakfast on my way back?” I ask as I reach into the fridge, pulling out a Starbucks Espresso can, along with a pre-mixed protein shake.
She watches me with barely concealed disgust as I grab my favorite cup out of the cabinet, put it under the ice, and fill it full.
“No thanks, I’ll be here drinking my real coffee.”
“Don’t knock it until you try it,” I grin at her, putting in the shot, then pouring in the protein shake. Closing the lid of my cup, I place my finger over the straw hole and shake it up so that it’s well mixed. “Remember, I used to hate this stuff too.”
She answers with a snarl of her lip and a shudder. “You became a pod person for a while, and then you came out on the other side—what you are now.” She gestures toward me. “I’m still unsure how we shared a womb.”
The laugh bubbles up in my throat. “Stop. You know you love me.”
“I do, which is why I put up with this shit, when I’m really wondering why in the hell you’re not drinking coffee with creamer and real motherfucking sugar.”
