Love Triangle Six Books of Torn Desire - Willow Winters Page 0,406

look. As much as Carla hurt me, I don’t want to instill any of that animosity onto the kids. They need to form their own opinion.

“She left right after you were born, kiddo.”

“Why?”

I run my hand through my hair, wishing my dad were still alive to give me advice on how to handle this conversation. No one prepares you for these types of things when you’re getting ready to have kids. No manual covers how to talk to your children about why their mother abandoned them six years ago and made no effort to be a part of their lives. My dad went through it with Molly and me, and we turned out fine. Still, I would love his expertise on how to tell my kids their mother didn’t want them, didn’t want any of us.

“I wish I knew, sweetie.” She deserves a better answer. I doubt I’ll ever be able to give her one.

“Here.” Noah’s voice cuts through as he hands me a glass of a red wine. “Figured you could use this.”

“They don’t teach you any of this stuff in parenting classes,” I mumble, taking the wine from him. “Hope you’re ready.”

“Is there such a thing?”

I raise the glass to my lips. “Definitely not.”

“I want a baby in my belly,” Alyssa declares.

I glance at Molly as she takes a sip of water. “A little help here?”

“Oh, no. I’m wearing my auntie hat tonight. This is all you, Drew.”

With a deep breath, I turn back to my two girls, both of whom look excited over the prospect. “You need to be a little older before you can have a baby in your belly.” I pray this explanation works. I don’t want to go into the technicalities of why they have to be a little older.

“Okay,” Charlotte says. “Can I have some juice?”

Relieved that their questions about the proverbial birds and bees are done, I walk to the refrigerator and pour some apple juice into two cups, then add a straw.

“When I’m older, I’m going to have lots of babies in my belly,” Alyssa states, grabbing one of the cups.

“Not if I can help it,” I mutter under my breath so only Molly and Noah can hear, to which they both laugh. “Just wait. Your time’s coming.”

“Eh. We’ve got it easier,” Molly replies as Noah drapes an arm over her shoulders. “We’re having a boy. We only have one penis to worry about instead of one million. Times two.”

I groan. “Great. Way to make me feel good about this, especially considering Alyssa will be in middle school in three years.” Yes, eleven sounds young, but I remember how I was at that age. Remember when I realized girls weren’t filled with cooties, as I originally thought.

“Glad I could help.” She grins.

Giving serious consideration to buying a firearm to use as a ploy to scare any boy who so much as looks at Alyssa in a way I don’t like, I resume preparing our traditional Sunday dinner, checking the sauce every so often. The second Aunt Gigi and Uncle Leo arrive, she kicks me out of my kitchen. I try to argue, to tell her to relax, but she won’t hear it.

Every week, it’s the same thing. So many other people I know rarely see their families, especially once they began having children of their own. I see mine constantly. If Molly isn’t stopping over to see the girls, I’m dropping by the café to visit with Aunt Gigi. We’re as nontraditional as a family can be, but I’m eternally grateful for the amount of positive influences my girls have, for the strong support system I’ve had throughout all the trials in my life.

“Is Brooklyn coming?” Gigi asks as I make myself useful and slice the loaf of bread she brought from the café.

“She’s supposed to.” I keep my eyes lowered, trying not to reveal anything by the way I can feel my entire body heat from her name alone.

“And Wes?”

I stare at the bread. “She texted this morning to tell me he may be coming.”

“I’ll be sure not to hold my breath, though,” Gigi remarks.

One of the many things I love about my aunt is the way she holds nothing back. She lets you know exactly what she’s thinking. As I’ve learned throughout my life, it’s both a blessing and a curse.

“I can count on one hand the number of times that boy’s shown up here for our family dinner.”

“Brooklyn’s not technically family.” I meet her eyes, bringing the blade