“I know. What if I spoil their vacation though?”
Jax laughs out loud as we head out to the garden to the kids. “Are you kidding me?” he checks his watch. “Those two will be make-up fucking already.”
“Jax,” I nudge him in the ribs. “They’re my parents.”
“Yeah, I know. You’ve lived in the same house as them so you know I speak the truth.”
“Ugh,” I groan. “I do and it’s gross.”
“People in their thirties still fuck, you know?” He grins at me and my pulse starts to thrum against my skin. “A lot!”
Then he walks into the garden and scoops the nearest shrieking toddler into his arms and I stare after him wishing he would give me a practical demonstration.
By the time dinner is served almost an hour later, we are all ravenous with hunger and my parents are no longer glaring at each other, making me wonder if Jax was right earlier. I shudder at the thought. It has nothing to do with their age though, simply the fact that they are my parents.
As my mom places the bowl of salad onto the dining table, she takes hold of my arm and pulls me to one side. “I will be just as angry when the boys decide to work for your father too. But they’re still so young. I thought I had more time with you, that’s all,” she says as her eyes fill with tears.
“Mom,” I say as she makes me want to cry now too. “You will always be my best friend,” I whisper. Because that is how we started out and how we will always be. I was almost seventeen when I first met her. Pregnant and scared and alone, and she was the person who rescued me, convincing my father to take me in when I had nowhere else to go. I owe her everything.
“And you will always be my favorite daughter,” she says with a smile. “I love you, sweetheart.”
“Love you too, Mom.”