Keeping up with Cricket and Chipper’s banter is a million times harder than doing the same with Murphy and Minnow. Again, I thrive with children. Adults intimidate me so much more, but I hold my own as well as possible while Cricket gives me the protective sister routine.

Once Bianca Bella announces lunch is ready, everyone moves to the dining room on the other side of the kitchen. I’m not particularly hungry, despite skipping breakfast. I’ve read depression can lead to a loss of appetite, and I ought to keep up my strength. My mom didn’t want to eat during the last weeks of her life, but she forced down food to ensure she was strong for as long as possible.

Chipper and I sit at the end of the table with Poet and the mini-twins at the other end. Bianca Bella carries containers filled with food into the room where Cricket sets out plates.

“You should have us over soon for dinner,” Cricket says to Chipper. “Invite Candy and Hayes and the angel, so they can see how domesticated you’ve become.”

The OG twins share a wicked little smile, and Chipper nods. “I think I will. I’ve been meaning to use the brick oven.” He turns to me and smiles. “We could make homemade pizza.”

“What’s wrong with the frozen kind?”

“Once you make a pizza in a brick oven, you’ll never want it any other way.”

Smiling at the way he murmurs each word, I’m seduced by the simplest gestures. The expensive oven or homemade restaurant-style food doesn’t impress me. I’m perfectly happy eating macaroni and cheese rather than this Greek pasta salad with ingredients I can’t name. When I watched HGTV with Mom, we always said the over-the-top living was interesting, but we’d never fit in. I still believe that even though Chipper and his family don’t act anything like the rich folks I’d watched over the years.

“Ever have moonshine?” Chipper asks after everyone begins to eat.

“Of course not.”

“You’re missing out. Poet’s step-great-granddaddy or something to that effect makes stellar homemade booze. I have some back at my house that you need to try. Peach Pussy Punch is what he calls it.”

“Stop talking about booze,” Bianca Bella complains from the other end of the table. “I’m looking for compliments on my cooking. Your approval is all I have to keep me sane.”

“Loneliness is a tough cross to bear, isn’t it?” Chipper taunts, smirking in a nasty way.

I’d think he was a jerk if not for the smiling reactions of Bianca Bella and Cricket.

“I’ve never eaten this before,” I say, needing Bianca Bella to like me in the way I did with popular girls in school. “It’s really good.”

“Thank you for saying so. I don’t get nearly enough appreciation from these peons.”

Bianca Bella takes her plate, walks to our side of the table, and sits down. “I need more doting. What do you like best and what would you change? If you’re a keeper, I’ll need to know what to feed you when you visit.”

“I’m easy to please with food. I like American standards like burgers, pasta, sandwiches. Nothing fancy.”

“We were that way growing up,” Cricket says, wiping her mouth. “Bianca Bella helped us expand our palate. Now I eat highfalutin crap and even olives. Bianca Bella’s caused fucking bedlam, but I can’t deny her creativity opened my eyes to the world.”

Bianca Bella smiles widely. “You’re so ravishing when you compliment me.”

“And you’re never more flawless than when you mention my beauty,” Cricket replies.

Sharing their smiles, Chipper adds, “Can I say that you two are never more gorgeous than when in your full-fledged vain insane mode?”

I watch them all grinning at their weirdness before catching Poet rolling his eyes. He smiles at me. “I grew up around fricking snarky chatterbugs. You’ll get used to it.”

“Do I have to listen when they talk like that?”

“Yes,” Cricket says immediately. “We occasionally have tests, so you’ll need to be able to answer questions. If it helps, Poet always fails his so...” She finishes by waving her hand.

Chipper leans closer and whispers, “No penalties for failing.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Cricket says. “There are always penalties. Like you’ll eat the last of a casserole that’s been sitting in the fridge for a week, and the corners are hard as fuck. Think you can handle that, tough girl?”

“Are you kidding?” I balk. “That’s what I ate during an average week. You rich kids sure are spoiled.”

Cricket laughs. “We really are. Chip’s the worst of us. Aren’t you, Mister Wilburn?”

“Very much so, Miss Wilburn.”

“I prefer Mistress Bayer.”

“Then get married, and I’ll call you that.”

“Then I’d be Missus Bayer, and Mistress sounds sexier.”

“You can call yourself whatever you want,” Bianca Bella says. “A piece of paper from the state won’t change anything.”

Poet glances at Cricket who shrugs. “We can get married next week. We shouldn’t steal Chip’s thunder now that he’s met sweet, down-to-earth Tatum.”

“Don’t use me or my hot Breezy to distract from your fear of marriage.”

“I don’t fear marriage. I just happen to think the government knows too much about me already. Telling them I’m hooked on this fine piece of ass over here doesn’t help anyone except the G-men in the federal government.”

“You sound like Dad,” Chipper says, and his sister instantly follows with a “thank you.”

Chipper shakes his head. “Yeah, but Dad married Mom. If he didn’t care about a paper trail, why should you?”

“Ha!” Bianca Bella hoots. “Nailed you with your own logic. I do love when that happens.”

“Fine, whatever, you’re right,” Cricket cries, standing up and throwing her arms in the air. “I’m wrong. The world is flat. There is no gravity. Adding nuts to a salad isn’t insane. Life’s gone to the shits. Are you fucking happy?”

“Yes,” Chipper says and takes my hand. “I’ve never been happier.”

“Your happiness is a little nauseating, to be honest,” Cricket says, returning to her seat.

“Now you know how I felt years ago when you brought home the dirty biker.”

“Without me,” Poet mutters, “you wouldn’t have access to your stash of moonshine.”

“Or these two,” Chipper says, gesturing toward the mini-twins. “That’s why my sister ought to make things official, dirty biker.”

“It’s not like a piece of paper would make her worship me more than she already does.”

Cricket grins at her man. “I do worship you, don’t I, hygienic biker.”

“I do like to bathe,” Poet says and leans over to kiss her long and loud.

Turning away from their embrace, I catch Bianca Bella looking at me. “My mom is my best friend,” she says and then adds, “When we don’t hate each other. We’re very hot and cold, but when we’re hot, she and I are like the sun.”

I don’t respond, afraid a single reaction will set loose the tears always waiting inside me. Nodding, Bianca Bella reaches over and wraps my loose hair behind my ear. It’s such a gentle gesture. The kind my mother did so many times without thinking. Sharing Bianca Bella’s soft smile, I find myself hoping I can fit in with these wild people and fix my broken heart with a new family.