“You got most of my instructions over the phone, but I also left a list.” Mercedes points at the sofa table to something that looks more like a dossier than a list. I can feel my shirt sticking to my back with sweat, but I can guarantee it's not the weather. As usual, our sweet little hometown of Eureka, California is sixty-five degrees and cloudy. It's also sixty-five degrees and cloudy the other 364 days of the year, so I'm not surprised. “We can talk more about logistics on the way to the airport.”
“Fantastic,” I say, setting my bag down near the stairs. Well, I try to anyway. My brother's duplex is so small, that I kind of have to balance the bag on my own foot. “No school today?”
School.
Preschool and 2nd grade.
My two favorite things right now.
“We didn't have time to get them ready.”
Mercedes breezes over to a car seat that's sitting on the floor and lifts it up, handing it to me before I can protest. Inside is an alien creature of some sort, some weird ugly wrinkly thing they call a baby. I look down at it—at her—and try to smile.
The kid starts to scream.
“I hate you!” Kinzie screeches, sobbing and thrashing around on the couch. “I hate him!”
She points her finger at me and I bare my teeth, sending her into another fit of hysterics.
I can feel my heart pounding in my chest. I can't do this. I'm terrified. I'm so fucking terrified right now. I suck it up and take a deep breath.
“I kind of need to get my cat out of the car,” I say as Mercedes brushes past me, her wild curls slapping me in the face as she starts up the stairs again. The energy in this house is just … wow. I'm used to slow, lazy days in my condo, the constant gentle hum of the air conditioner, the soft sighs of beautiful women. This right here is frantic and messy, like standing in the middle of a mosh pit at a really intense rock show. I'm already about halfway certain that I'm going to get elbowed in the face—metaphorically or otherwise.
“Make sure you leave the cat downstairs,” Mercedes calls out. “The chihuahuas are up here in the bathroom.”
Fuck.
“What freaking chihuahuas?” I ask as my brother returns to the front door to grab his wife's suitcase. “You never said anything about chihuahuas. This was a kid sitting thing, not a dog sitting thing. I don't do dogs. Especially not little ones.”
“You like cats, right? Chihuahuas are basically cats.”
My brother glares at me, his red hair and beard giving him that sort of 'lumberjack' look that companies always put on the labels of syrup and pancakes and whatever. I miss Las Vegas. There are no fucking lumberjacks in Las Vegas. Hell, there aren't even any trees.
“Chihuahuas are not cats, Rob. Chihuahuas are smelly, annoying, ugly, yipping rat creatures. And it kind of freaks me out that you're just saying chihuahuas in the plural. How many of them do you have?”
“We have three,” Kinzie states proudly, apparently over her temper tantrum in some sort of miraculous mood shift. I'm confused. Ten seconds ago she was shouting that she hated me, and now she's sniffling and smiling and staring at me with squinty eyes. “Can I see your cat?”
“Um, sure.”
I don't know what to do with the baby, so I follow my brother outside and try to hand the car seat over. Thankfully, he takes it and starts strapping the kid in.
“Pay attention, so you know how to do this,” he barks, and I have to really clench my teeth to keep from screaming. When I said I hadn't slept in days, I meant it. Tack on a fourteen hour drive to the end of that? Not to mention the fact that I was so stressed-out I couldn't even get off before I left. Now I have blue balls, an aching back from the shitty seat in my car, and a pounding headache. I can't have my brother bossing me around right now. I dealt with that for years, and it's not gonna fly.
“I think I can figure out a fucking baby seat,” I snap and Kinzie gasps. Rob turns a look on me like I've never seen, nostrils flared and green eyes wide.
“Don't you dare use that language in front of my kids,” he snaps, waving his hand dismissively. “And don't just stand there. Do something productive.”
I flip him off behind his back and Kinzie gasps again. Holy mother of fucking shit. I'm not going to make it two days here, let alone two freaking weeks. Yeah, two weeks. Two weeks. Why, how, I got roped into this, I can't even remember. It's been a long drive.
Did you know that cats make shitty passengers on long road trips? Hubert yowled and screamed and attacked the bars on the cage. He even pissed on himself, despite the litter box I shoved into the kennel. Now I've got a hairless cat whose sweater is soaked in pee. Today really couldn't get any worse.
And then Mercedes wakes the twins up from their naps, just about at the same time I realize Kinzie has disappeared.
Ten seconds later, a herd of freaking chihuahuas comes yowling and skittering down the stairs.
I wonder what my face looks like in that moment.
If someone were to try and interpret it, I think it'd be: please fucking end me.