Page 38 of Your Last First Kiss

Shaking myself into motion, I cross the room to Aster, ignoring the way my feet stick to the floor like this is the basement of a frat house and not a home with two baby girls. The stale scent of cigarette smoke makes my already woozy stomach revolt, but no one else seems to notice.

Aster was only eighteen when Eddy got her pregnant, but she made her choices. It’s something I have to constantly remind myself of.

Circumstances change us, but they don’t define us.

“Aster.”

She lifts glassy eyes to mine, and I wonder, not for the first time, if the baby blues have her in their clutches, or if there’s something more going on here. The one time I tried to talk to her about it, she not-so-nicely told me to leave, and when I ask the county to do a well-check, they always leave having found nothing wrong.

She smiles like she just noticed I’m here. Then she frowns. “Penelope,” she says, popping the p’s to annoy me.

My name is not Penelope, but I bite back the snark. “How did you forget the formula?”

She shrugs and lifts her feet to the edge of the chair. Resting her chin on her knees, she scans the small room. When her gaze lands on her girls, she blinks rapidly. Does she just forget about them?

“I didn’t,” she says quietly. “Eddy took the SNAP card.”

“SNAP card?” I hear Dillon snarl.

“It’s like digital food stamps,” Miller whispers.

I ignore them. “Aster? You need to hold on to that card. No matter what he says, you cannot give it to him. Hide it if necessary.”

She nods, and a tear slips out of the corner of her eye. “I’m not a good mom,” she mutters. “I never even wanted this.”

“Well, guess what? It’s too late for that. You have to grow up and be here for those girls.” My voice is much stronger than I feel.

Aster and I don’t have any kind of relationship, but she goes from resentful to grateful and back again in nearly every encounter we have. Before she can change gears again, I put the food on the table and turn to Dahlia.

“Lia? Honey? Are you hungry?”

She looks from Dillon to me and nods.

“Come on. We’ll get you set up.”

“Burps, Dewey. Burps.”

Dillon lifts a panic-filled expression at me. “Marigold needs to be burped,” I explain. “Dahlia has a hard time with some letter combinations.”

Miller walks over, lifts Marigold to Dillon’s shoulder, and shows him how to do it.

Time stands still as I watch him gently pat the little girl’s back.

Lia smiles at him, then scrambles over to me. Her little belly rumbles, and I turn to Aster.

“She had a peanut butter sandwich for lunch,” Aster says defensively.

I focus on the task before me and try to block out the embarrassment I feel at Dillon seeing my life for what it really is. A mess I have no control over.

Miller cleans Eddy’s trash, Aster finally takes a sleeping Marigold to her room, and Dillon slips outside. I don’t blame him.

Lia sits in the middle of it all without saying a word but gobbling up the macaroni and cheese like it’ll be her last meal.

“You were a big girl singing to Mari,” I say gently.

The little girl keeps her eyes on the table.

“I’m proud of you, honey. You know how to use the phone, right? Kai showed you. Do you remember?”