Page 124 of Everything But Mine

“Why can’t you guys just fuck off?” She twitches as she points us to the nearest exit.

Daray’s mouth opens, but no sound comes out. I take a few seconds to observe his polo, covered in yellow crusts, and how loose it looks on him. He also looks pale and wrecked, with dark circles under his eyes. The baby won’t stop wailing.

Finally, someone gives Daray a pack of wipes and diapers, and he rushes to take the baby out of the stroller, a large stain covering the back of the pink onesie. When he holds her to his chest, he keeps touching the wet patches around her bum.

“You shouldn’t even be allowed in here.” Cassie jabs a finger at me, then points at Amanda. “You’re just playing house with his kid.” She shouts to no one and everyone. “That man”—pointing again—“is a baby thief.”

I take a step back, forcing Amanda to do the same, and bite my tongue, with boiling anger crawling up my chest. I’m about to speak when Daray finally does.

“Cassie, stop.”

She turns to him. “Don’t you dare defend them⁠—”

“Shut the fuck up, Cassie,” he hisses. He glances at Amanda and me, then back at her. “Just pay for this shit.”

Cassie puffs her cheeks. “What?”

“You can pay”—he nods at the register—“or hold your daughter, who’s covered in shit and needs to get cleaned up. Quickly.”

Without warning, she slaps him, the smack of skin against skin echoing in the store until it’s swallowed by the baby’s screams.

I glance at Amanda, her eyes trained on Daray, covered in poop. There’s no cruelty in her stare, but neither is there gentleness.

The clerk gives the total. Cassie shrieks again. “That can’t be right! It’s a tub of formula and diapers! You’re robbing me!” She waves her finger in the clerk’s face.

When she refuses to pay again, Daray sets the baby in the stroller, wipes his shit-covered hand on her shirt, and pays. “I told you, you should’ve breastfed,” he mutters.

“And I told you it would make my tits sag. You like my tits!”

He picks the baby up again and rocks her, shushing in her ear.

Cassie stomps her foot, then screams, “Stop looking at the baby! You’re supposed to want me! You’re supposed to care about me!” She turns to us. “Oh, stop! This will be you in a month.”

I don’t flinch. “No, we won’t, thanks.” I nod toward Daray. “Get her out of here, man.”

Cassie storms off, pushing the stroller so hard it rattles across the tile. The baby is still crying in Daray’s arms.

He lingers, then leaves without as much as acknowledging either of us. I turn back to face Amanda and put my hands on her shoulders.

“I’m okay.” She nods. “I’m just—” She exhales and steps into my arms. “I’m so fucking happy all of that”—her arms wave behind my back—“happened and I finally dared to choose you.”

I wrap my arms tightly around her, thinking about how every wrong turn somehow led us back to each other.

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

AMANDA

By the time Eric’s done hauling all the boxes up to her apartment, I’m already out of the shower, hair damp, and in a long T-shirt that reaches mid-thigh. When he puts the last box down, Eric’s curls are damp with sweat, and his forearms have pink lines.

He takes off his drenched shirt, revealing the planes and ridges of his chest, dusting of hair circling his nipples and trailing down, around his belly button till it becomes thicker and curlier just at the top of his waistband. I lick my lips. Following the endless loops of ink on his skin, I want to slide my tongue over them and savor his sweat.

I pat the empty spot on the couch next to me, and Eric drops, cushion hissing under his weight.

“I really need a shower.” He tips his chin to the water basin, washcloth, and razor on the coffee table in front of us. “What’s that for?”

I shift on the couch, sitting on my shins to dampen the cloth in the tepid water, then bring it to the base of his neck. Droplets gather on the slope of his clavicle and trail down his skin over the lines of ink.

He stretches his arms over the backrest, and his fingertips trace my shoulder over the thin cotton. “More homework?”