I fink I’m totallyfucked.
* * *
Lucaand I throw ourselves down on the grass at the park around the corner, winded from an epic game of tag with the twins. As soon as I’m horizontal, the puppy pounces on my head and douses me with kisses. I groan and throw up my hands to defendmyself.
“Here, I’ve got him.” Luca pulls the dogoffme.
Propping myself up on my elbows, I glance over and find him sprawled in the grass beside me beneath the tree, the puppy cradled against his chest, looking so handsome it steals my breath all over again. He strokes his hands over the dog’s lush fur. The little monster’s eyes are starting to droop, clearly exhausted after chasing us around the park for the past hour on his half-grownlegs.
A couple walks by pushing a stroller, smiling at us as they pass. I wonder what we look like to them — the brawny redheaded man, his strawberry blonde wife in ripped jeans and flip-flops, their perfect pair of kids, and even a tiny rust-colored dog to complete theequation.
Afamily.
The thought is so foreign, so completely unexpected, I don’t know how toclassifyit.
Ahope?
Anightmare?
Afantasy?
A fate worse thandeath?
I can’t sort out my own feelings on the matter and, one thing’s for sure, staring into Luca’s bottomless blue eyes while I attempt it isn’t making the process any simpler. I quickly turn my head to the jungle gym, where the twins are swinging in tandem, daring each other to go higher with each pump of theirspindlylegs.
“They’ve got energy,” Luca remarks after a while, his eyes onthekids.
“That theycertainlydo.”
“How long have you beenwatchingthem?”
“About four months.Since…”
I went broke and needed a job. Any job. Even one a thirteen-year-old is qualifiedtodo.
“Huh.”
I glance athim. “What?”
“Nothing, just would’ve figured it waslonger.”
“Why do yousaythat?”
He pauses. “Because of how much theyloveyou.”
I scoff. “Don’t be silly. They don’tloveme. Theylikeme, certainly, but that’s as far asitgoes.”
“Delilah,” he whispers, so softly I have to lean in to catch it. “Why is it so hard for you to accept the idea that someone mightloveyou?”
“It’s not about that.” I dismiss his words, as if they don’t affect me in the slightest. “I’m just a babysitter. A next door neighbor. It’s not like I’m their Mom or their crazy aunt or their nanny. It’snotlike…”
“Likewhat?”
“It’s not like I’m their—” My voice catches. “Like their big sister, orsomething.”
Luca is silent, digesting my words with care. I haven’t told him about Mimi, so there’s no way he could know why talking about big sisters feels like a knife to the gut. And yet, he’s so keenly observant of my every nuance, my every nervous tic and bad habit and withheld word, it doesn’t surprise me to see his eyes are full of questions. As if he knows there’s more to this story, that there are things I’m notlettingon.
He doesn’t push me. Not yet. But I know he will one day, at exactly the right moment, when my defenses are down and I’m least expecting it. He’ll look at me with those eyes that cut through all the bullshit, straight to my soul, and he’ll askabouther…