Page 40 of Crossing Arizona

Until she opens her mouth and lets out an ear-shattering shriek that has us both wincing.

Immediately followed by the wettest fart I’ve ever heard.

Matty sighs, dragging a hand down his unshaven face before gently taking her from my arms. “Well, that’s my cue. I’ll get her changed.”

“And I’ll warm up a bottle.”

At least Valerie’s been pumping while in rehab, so there’s no shortage of breast milk in the fridge now that’s it’s safe for Hannah to drink. I head toward the kitchen, my chest inexplicably tight, the sound of Matty’s soft murmurs trailing behind me.

For all the chaos, all the sleepless nights and endless challenges, he makes it look effortless.

And every second I spend with him, it gets harder to remind myself that he isn’t mine.

Twenty minutes later, I’m sitting up in bed, watching Matty rock his baby girl to sleep in the chair we built together. She’s curled against his bare chest, and the peaceful look on his face fills me with a strange sense of contentment. He looks completely at home, comfortable, in his element. Like he was born to be a parent.

Something about that thought has me remembering the day I followed him off the playground in fourth grade after school. None of the other kids wanted to play with me because I was quiet and weird, too small with clothes two sizes too big. I was on my way home, dejected and sad, when Matty grabbed my hand to stop me.

“Alexander, where are you going?”

I take in the bigger hand enveloping mine before looking up from under my lashes at the boy towering above me. His eyes match the sky, blue like a clear summer day, silver blond waves flopping over his brow.

Matthew. We don’t have the same teacher, but I can’t help how my attention seems to follow him at recess or lunch. He’s so much taller than the rest of us. Bigger, too. He always tries to include me, even though I keep to myself. We met in second grade.

“I’m going home,” I mutter, trying to pull away from him, but he holds on tighter.

“Don’t you wanna come to the park with us? There’s a new jungle gym they just put in. We’re gonna play a game.”

Glancing over his shoulder, I spot the faces of some of the kids he’s hanging with, the ones who live up on the big hill in the big houses. They’re looking at me like they smell something gross, all wrinkled noses and narrowed eyes.

Bringing the collar of my shirt up to my nose, I sniff and cough at the scent of mothballs that comes from the second-hand store Aunt Pearl gets all my clothes from, my cheeks heating from embarrassment.

“N-no. I gotta go.” Yanking my hand away, I shoulder the strap on my fraying messenger bag higher before quickly making my way back down the sidewalk. It’s probably better that they don’t like me, anyway. If I don’t do my chores, I’ll get in trouble. And when I get in trouble...

Since my head is bowed, it takes me a moment to realize that a set of large sneakers is walking next to me. I glance up to find Matthew’s blue eyes smiling down at me.

My brows wrinkle as I slow to a stop. “What are you doing?”

He shrugs. “Going home.”

“But...what about the playground?”

Something about that question confuses him, and he tilts his head. “Why would I wanna go play if you can’t?”

Now it’s my turn to stare at him like he’s talking nonsense. “Because those are your friends.”

“So are you,” he grins brightly, tongue trapped between crooked teeth, and I don’t understand the feeling that flops around in my stomach. Like gas. Maybe I ate something at lunch.

Matt continues on, bouncing on his feet without a care in the world, and I just...follow silently. Because I’ve never really had anyone call me a friend before, and I’m still not ready to go home.

He cuts to the right, down a road I’ve never been before, so I do, too. Then he crosses the street to the houses on the other side, and I’m right on his heels. When he glances over his shoulder and does a zig-zag, I follow suit, not sure why, other than it looks like fun.

A big laugh bursts out of him, making me think of the donkey we saw on a field trip as he starts to skip. Before I can mimic him, though, he trips over his laces and tumbles onto the ground with an oomph.

And what do I do? I fall over, too. Dropping my backpack, I lay myself out on the sidewalk beside him with a snort, making him smile wide. I think I like making him smile.

“You remind me of a baby duck,” he says, flopping onto his back, and I scowl.

“I’m not a duck.” Ducks are cute. I’m definitely not cute.