The after-party goes well with our smaller group. Monroe gives me future mommy vibes when she plays with my cousin, Carina, along with Pixie’s eleven-month-old daughter, Chili, and her four-year-old brother, Future.
I notice how she doesn’t have much use for the older kids. Monroe tends to connect with certain people while zoning out others. When she’s in a room with all the bunnies, I can quickly tell which girls she likes and which ones don’t register. She isn’t rude, but her warmth toward some people is so much more powerful than with others. That’s why I knew she wanted me even back when she played coy.
Tonight, her father might as well be invisible. Lowell doesn’t help by ignoring Monroe. I don’t know how the fuck we’re supposed to play miniature golf in two days as a foursome. Topanga will likely talk the entire time while I distract Monroe with casual dry humping.
“I don’t like her,” Barbie tells me as we stand near the grill and away from Monroe and the kids. “She’s all wrong.”
“Who do you imagine me with?”
“I don’t know.”
“Because everyone will fall short in your eyes. Not only because you love me so damn much. But you’re also a dick about new people,” I mutter, and Mom gives me the stink-eye. “You were hostile toward Lana. You only liked Pixie because you got along with her mom. When Anders showed up, you thought he would kill everyone. New people are always the enemy.”
“She feels cold,” Barbie insists and bumps against me. “I don’t want you loving someone who can’t love you back.”
I smile down at my mother. “Monroe is cold to you because she doesn’t like you. When she likes a person, and she fucking adores my sexy self, she’s warmer than the sun.”
Mom flashes a frown at Monroe, who doesn’t notice. She’s bouncing Chili on her lap as Future tells her about his atrium. The little girl looks like her dad—tall, blonde, blue-eyed. If not for her clothes and pink hairband, Chili could be mistaken for a boy. Her four-year-old uncle is again sporting longish hair after an attempt at a short cut. Future’s a friendly kid while Chili isn’t, but they both like Monroe. With them, her warmth is on full display.
Maybe my mom sees what I do because she backs off for the night. I make the rounds, finding the men—Bronco, Anders, and Lowell—in weird moods. Or maybe I’m misreading shit just like my mom was with Monroe.
“You’re still coming on Monday, right?” Topanga asks for the third time tonight.
“Why are you bugging me?” I mutter and gesture toward her husband. “He’s the one with the bug up his ass.”
“I’m fine,” Lowell grumbles.
Bronco frowns at his friend but says nothing. My uncle doesn’t get how Lowell can be so dismissive of his blood. But I’ve never met anyone in the extended Sinema family. Lowell views blood relations differently than the Parrish clan. My mom is close to her sister because they shared parents, not because they get along.
Lowell, though, made the club his family. Years later, he added Topanga and then Dunning. Monroe being blood doesn’t mean anything to him. With her, Lowell doesn’t see a kid needing a dad. Monroe is just a mistake he didn’t know he made.
“We’ll be there, and we’ll have fun,” I tell Topanga. “But once that shit doesn’t work, you have to stop trying to make it work, okay?”
“Don’t talk to her like that,” Lowell bitches at me.
Ignoring him, I look into Topanga’s eyes. “You get how he doesn’t care, right? No matter how much you try to force things, you can’t change how he feels. That doesn’t mean you can’t be friendly with Monroe. But you also need to accept reality.”
Topanga glances at her husband and then frowns. “No, it’s only been a week.”
“Well, maybe one day when Monroe and I have kids, he’ll pretend to care for their sake.”
“Asshole,” Lowell growls at me. “I’m not the bad guy here.”
Bronco ignores his VP’s bitching and focuses on me. “Kids, huh? That serious?”
“She’s the one. A man knows.”
Glancing at Lana nearby, Bronco nods. “Yeah, he does.”
Topanga pats my chest. “You and Monroe are two sides of the same coin. You both beat down assholes and dance poorly.”
Sharing her smile, I glance at Monroe listening very intently to Pixie explain something likely hippie related. My guess is they’re discussing hair removal. Monroe already warned me that she isn’t big on shaving during the winter months, so I better be ready to snuggle with Snuffleupagus once January comes along.
“He was my favorite character from that show,” I told her, using my love of “Sesame Street” as an excuse to spend another hour in bed together.
Those leisurely moments hanging out and talking about random shit—what zodiac sign is most likely to ruin our day—comforts me in a way nothing else has before. I’ve been restless for so long. Monroe settled me right down, though. I no longer wake up, ready to board a flight to Indonesia. Driving around Elko doesn’t inspire me to keep going until I hit the coast. Monroe is my safe space. With her, I feel the stress fade, and the noise fall into the background.
Despite what she said at the party about not caring, Monroe wants to settle down in this town. That’s how she’s programmed. Once she finds a home, Monroe hunkers down for the long run. She only left Minton when the people she loved were gone. Even then, she waited until she felt in danger.
Elko offers friends, safety, and me. The only thing it can’t provide is Needy. New friends can be made, but there’s only one mom. I’m thinking about that the next day while she works a shift at Bambi’s Bar & Grill. Monroe rarely mentions her mom, but I catch her looking at their pictures quite often.
“She loved me in a way that made the world better,” Monroe once said before changing the subject.
My honey doesn’t like to cry. I don’t blame her. I never cried when my father died. Crying feels as if I’m exposing myself to a hostile world. Better to shove the pain deep inside where it can fester and grow into gnarly traumas. That’s how I prefer things.
Before I head over to pick up Monroe, I decide to ask for help with the Needy situation. I dial up my sister, knowing she’ll do what others will talk me out of.
“What’s your frequency, Kenneth?” Aja asks over the din of background noise.
“Are you in the middle of something important?”
“Always. My life involves an endless tsunami of importance.”
“Can you make time to do me a favor?”
“Always. Well, assuming the favor doesn’t involve anything too kinky. I’m very vanilla,” she says, and I hear laughter in the background of her call.
I explain the basics of who Monroe is, why her mom is in Kansas, and how contacting Needy is tricky.
“Would you or one of your people be able to slip Needy a burner phone so she can talk to Monroe?”
“Easy,” Aja says immediately.
“I don’t know what the town is like or how under surveillance Needy might be. You could be walking into a dangerous situation.”
“I’ll bring an extra gun and a rosary,” she says, snickering. “Send me the chick’s name and address. A picture or two wouldn’t hurt. I’ll start staking out the place. If I can’t get close to her, I’ll find someone who can.”
“I owe you.”
“I shall be repaid through flesh and candy corn.”
“Really? That shit is gross. Let me buy you decent candy.”
“I have my reasons.”
After thanking Aja, I hang up and hope to be the hero who provides what Monroe needs to be happy