face on canvas more than once. In fact, I’m working on a project right now, just for fun. I drew inspiration from Grace’s perfectly proportioned features and smooth skin. It’s the Goddess, Venus, dressed in lavish robes and standing on a billowing cloud as the wind whips her hair into a frenzy. And just like the beautiful, determined deity, Grace is giving me a diva stare.
“What does one druggie have to do with kids?” she asks.
“Have you seen the world?” I motion to the other side of the room. A young mother is trying to control her toddler as she is flinging mashed potatoes across the table. The father is laughing, and so the mother switches from scolding the toddler to scolding her husband. There is laughter in the mom’s voice too, so she can’t be too mad.
Grace looks over at the family, and turns back to me with an arched brow. Okay, so they were a bad example. I didn’t mean to wave at them, but the druggies I was referring to don’t exactly eat at trendy chain restaurants.
“Uh, yeah,” Grace says through a smirk. “The world has always been fucked up, Christina. That doesn’t mean I don’t want kids. Violet and I are already talking about starting a family.”
Violet, AKA Rodeo Chick, is Grace’s girlfriend. Violet owns a successful horse breeding ranch out of town. Even though she looks much younger, and I’d initially confused her for some sort of juvenile delinquent rodeo groupie, she’s in her early thirties and eager to settle down. They are already talking about having a huge ranch wedding in the spring. Now they’re talking kids?
It takes me a while to realize Grace is gawking at me. “Earth to Christina,” she says as she waves her hand in my face.
“Uhhhh,” I answer, which is about all I can manage, because I realize I’ve been staring at her with my mouth hanging open. Oh, and I still have a mouthful of food. I swallow, nearly choking on bits of dry bread. Didn’t this restaurant ever hear of mayonnaise? I wash it down with several gulps of sweet tea. “But what about Diablo? He’ll probably smother your baby in its sleep.”
Diablo is Grace’s evil Chihuahua. I’m pretty sure the dog’s sole purpose in life is to devise a way to slit my throat with his sharp little claws.
Grace laughs out loud while shaking her head. “What am I going to do with you?” Then she narrows her eyes and purses her lips. I cringe, because I sense a lecture coming on.
“So, truthfully,” she asks as she points a fork at me, “what’s the real reason you won’t have kids? And don’t say you don’t want a family, because every time I see you, you’re either talking about Tyler or Andrés.”
I turn my attention toward my plate and pick at my sandwich, wondering why Grace has to ruin a perfectly good girl date with baby talk. Sure, I’d love to have a family, but it isn’t happening, not as long as there are rapists, druggies and heartless mothers in the world. So I will my hands not to shake as I set them in my lap, then I give her a pointed look. “I don’t want to bring anyone into this world.”
Grace rolls her eyes. “That’s a bullshit excuse.”
I square my shoulders. “Excuse me?”
As much as I love Grace, she’s really starting to piss me off. What is it with everyone and the baby talk lately? Am I not dealing with enough stress right now?
But she waves me off, as if I’m nothing more than an annoying fly buzzing around her head. “There’s another reason, and I think it has something to do with your mother.”
A punch to the gut. That’s what her words feel like. I haven’t spoken to The Spitting Cobra in six months. That woman hasn’t bothered to apologize after she admitted to listening to my dad rape me and doing nothing about it. She hasn’t even called to ask how I’m doing. Honestly, even though I’ve always longed for a hug from my mother—for any kind of motherly affection—I’ve never gotten it. She’s given me nothing but
“What does one druggie have to do with kids?” she asks.
“Have you seen the world?” I motion to the other side of the room. A young mother is trying to control her toddler as she is flinging mashed potatoes across the table. The father is laughing, and so the mother switches from scolding the toddler to scolding her husband. There is laughter in the mom’s voice too, so she can’t be too mad.
Grace looks over at the family, and turns back to me with an arched brow. Okay, so they were a bad example. I didn’t mean to wave at them, but the druggies I was referring to don’t exactly eat at trendy chain restaurants.
“Uh, yeah,” Grace says through a smirk. “The world has always been fucked up, Christina. That doesn’t mean I don’t want kids. Violet and I are already talking about starting a family.”
Violet, AKA Rodeo Chick, is Grace’s girlfriend. Violet owns a successful horse breeding ranch out of town. Even though she looks much younger, and I’d initially confused her for some sort of juvenile delinquent rodeo groupie, she’s in her early thirties and eager to settle down. They are already talking about having a huge ranch wedding in the spring. Now they’re talking kids?
It takes me a while to realize Grace is gawking at me. “Earth to Christina,” she says as she waves her hand in my face.
“Uhhhh,” I answer, which is about all I can manage, because I realize I’ve been staring at her with my mouth hanging open. Oh, and I still have a mouthful of food. I swallow, nearly choking on bits of dry bread. Didn’t this restaurant ever hear of mayonnaise? I wash it down with several gulps of sweet tea. “But what about Diablo? He’ll probably smother your baby in its sleep.”
Diablo is Grace’s evil Chihuahua. I’m pretty sure the dog’s sole purpose in life is to devise a way to slit my throat with his sharp little claws.
Grace laughs out loud while shaking her head. “What am I going to do with you?” Then she narrows her eyes and purses her lips. I cringe, because I sense a lecture coming on.
“So, truthfully,” she asks as she points a fork at me, “what’s the real reason you won’t have kids? And don’t say you don’t want a family, because every time I see you, you’re either talking about Tyler or Andrés.”
I turn my attention toward my plate and pick at my sandwich, wondering why Grace has to ruin a perfectly good girl date with baby talk. Sure, I’d love to have a family, but it isn’t happening, not as long as there are rapists, druggies and heartless mothers in the world. So I will my hands not to shake as I set them in my lap, then I give her a pointed look. “I don’t want to bring anyone into this world.”
Grace rolls her eyes. “That’s a bullshit excuse.”
I square my shoulders. “Excuse me?”
As much as I love Grace, she’s really starting to piss me off. What is it with everyone and the baby talk lately? Am I not dealing with enough stress right now?
But she waves me off, as if I’m nothing more than an annoying fly buzzing around her head. “There’s another reason, and I think it has something to do with your mother.”
A punch to the gut. That’s what her words feel like. I haven’t spoken to The Spitting Cobra in six months. That woman hasn’t bothered to apologize after she admitted to listening to my dad rape me and doing nothing about it. She hasn’t even called to ask how I’m doing. Honestly, even though I’ve always longed for a hug from my mother—for any kind of motherly affection—I’ve never gotten it. She’s given me nothing but
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