Page 17

My sister, Sadie, my best friend, Nahla, and Emmie and Tatum. They’re with me, day and night.
I struggled with telling her, but in the comfort of her room at sunrise, I gave her the news. She stared at me with a concentrated expression for several seconds. No words. And then she sighed, tipped her head to the side, and asked, “Daddy had to go to heaven?”
That was the last time she mentioned him. Five days and she’s mentioned him one time. And I haven’t seen her shed a tear yet. It might be because there’s constant commotion in our house, and she not only has me and my tribe waiting on her every demand but maybe she hadn’t been that attached to Collin. It’s sad to say, but between him working long hours and golfing on the weekends, she barely saw him.
Sadie sits next to me and pours herself a glass of wine. “Where’s Tatum?”
“Watching a movie in the family room with Nahla?”
Sadie’s barely twenty-one and in college. She can’t pick a man who treats her right, and has an unhealthy obsession with musicians and Red Bull. With curly red hair (that she dyes blue), she has a million freckles and the most contagious smile I’ve ever seen. “Oh. I made her the peanut butter and jelly sandwich she asked for.”
“I don’t know what my kid is going to do without you guys here every day to wait on her hand and foot.”
“Eh, she has you.” She takes a drink straight from the bottle and winks at me. “Coolest mom ever.”
Suddenly we hear Tatum yell, “Cock!”
My eyes snap to Sadie’s, and we’re locked in a stare before we both burst out laughing. “Her mind is like a steel trap.” I wipe my eyes, tears following, though they’re not from sadness. “I let that slip over a month ago, and she can’t seem to stop saying it this week.”
Sadie stands, taking the bottle of wine with her and the sandwich. “I’m gonna take the little trucker her sandwich.”
AFTER TAKING SOMEtime to compose myself, which means bawling in the bathroom, I make my way to the living room where the girls are. Sitting next to Tatum, I hug her to my side. She snuggles right into my arms, and I nearly burst into tears. It’s not even that I’m terribly sad over anything that’s happened. I know that might seem heartless of me, but maybe I’m still in shock? Numb? Confused? Now there’s a shitload of adjectives thrown at you.
About an hour into being on the couch with the girls, and most of that bottle of wine, Tatum is asleep on my lap. “Can you refill my wine?” I ask Sadie when she opens a new bottle.
“Sure.” She pours me another glass.
Emmie smiles. “Can I try it?”
“No way, kiddo.” Sadie pulls the wine away. “I don’t corrupt minors.”
I laugh. “Yeah, right.”
Reaching for my empty wineglass, I lean forward, and my hand hits something squishy and wet. At first, I think Tatum’s taken off her pull up and stuffed it in the couch cushions. Moms of toddlers understand this. If they don’t, lucky you.
Pulling out my hand, I find her sandwich from earlier. Tatum loves peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, in theory. But once you serve it to her, somehow, at least half of it ends up in a couch cushion. She’s like a squirrel, and she’s saving her food for winter. In my couch cushions.
I hold it up, laughing, my cheeks flushed with the alcohol swimming in my veins. “Think she’s saving this for later?”
“Prob—” Sadie’s cut off by another knock at the door. She looks over her shoulder, spills her wine, and then jumps up. “Ha. Only spilled a drop.” Leaning down, she licks it off the coffee table. “No sense in wasting any. I’ll get it.”
While I run my fingers through Tatum’s hair as she sleeps on me, I glance at the door, unable to see who’s there. “At least I know it’s not another death notice,” I tease, trying to make light of my situation.
Nahla shakes her head, pouring herself another glass. “Truth, girl.”
We knock our glasses together, just as Sadie returns with an envelope in hand. “Addressed to Mr. and Mrs. Greyson.”
I take the notice from her. Hmmm. And as I open it, I wished I hadn’t. Not only do I have no money and no way of getting into my accounts, it looks like Collin was avoiding another part of our lives he neglected to tell me.
Our home. Do you see what I’m holding there?
Foreclosure notice?
What. The. Fuck?