Page 82 of Loyal
She beams up at me. “So does this mean you will ask my mom to be your old lady?”
I smile as I wipe a hand down my mouth. “Yeah, if I can convince her this is a life she wants to live. That might start by you not partaking in underage drinking on the side of the clubhouse with boys.”
She groans. “You heard that?”
“Yep.”
“Are you going to tell on us?” she asks.
“Nope. I was your age once. I do want you to promise me something, though.” I turn to look at her.
“Sure. What is it?”
“One beer. No hard liquor. You can kiss, but nothing more. If he gets handsy, you kick him in the balls and run. I’ll handle the rest.”
Her eyes widen. “No. I’m not. I mean, who would I even kiss?”
I give her a knowing look. “It’s natural, but don’t let them take advantage. You do not have to put out to be liked. These boys are used to strong women, so show them the strong woman your mom raised you to be.”
She nods, looking down at her hands.
“Go back to your friends. Make sure you get some gum before we see you again. I’ll come get you when we are getting ready to leave.”
She stands and takes a few steps away before she turns back to me. “I was wrong about you.”
I nod. I know she was, and that’s okay. It’s not her job to know who I am. It’s my job to show her.
After she walks away, I get up and head back toward Sami. As I pass by Toker, I say, “Your boy’s out there with the others drinking.”
I smirk when I hear him curse and set his own beer down.
When I reach Sami, she lets me take the chair before sitting back in my lap.
“Everything okay?” she asks.
“Everything is perfect.”
“Mom, are you even listening?” Farrah whines, making me smile.
Who would have thought that taking her to the clubhouse would make my daughter’s smile reappear? I was already starting to see the old Farrah, but now it’s like I got her back again for good.
Shit, I don’t think she’s given me attitude once since we got home.
“Mom…” she says again, bringing me back to the present.
“Sorry, baby, you asked me a question, but I missed it,” I say as I lean against the counter, giving her my undivided attention.
She rolls her eyes but smiles.
“Were you daydreaming about a certain guy next door?” she teases, making me laugh.
“No, I was thinking how good happiness looks on you and how much I missed seeing you smile. Now, what did you ask?” I ask, trying to get back on topic.
“I asked you if I could switch schools. My friends go to Woodrow, and we’ve agreed it would be awesome if I could go there with them,” she informs me.
Friends. Not the ones she grew up with, but the ones she made at the club. Teens who reassured her that their parents were just like anyone else and that they just ride bikes.
“Baby, don’t you think that’s a little fast? You just met these friends. You hung out once.”
