...Mom had some issues, okay?

Fridays became my free-for-all day. We used to gather in Morgan’s basement room with the Patriots paraphernalia from hell to watch movies but Mormor’s house became hangout central. The teenagers took over the living room, Leaf, me, Devi, Morgan, Erin and now Jack, who had become part of our group. There was no reason for him not to be invited—he was our age, he was cool, he was Cass’s father. Sometimes he brought his girlfriend over, but most times she took those nights to hang out with her friends. Jack was fine with that. He fit in great, and spent the majority of the evening holding his daughter and fawning.

While we babysat Cass, Mom babysat Mormor.

They started a Friday night mother-daughter dinner and a movie at the discount theater ritual, which was basically a huge cover for “get Mormor out of the house so she didn’t aggressively feed or chastise any of Serendipity’s friends.”

“Mormor got to pick this week’s movie,” Mom announced to all of us after she’d changed out of her work clothes. She shouldered into her insulated vest, daring to take the weather-liar on TV’s word that March wouldn’t swing from fifty degrees to twenty. “It’s a drama about 9/11. I’m going to buy those anti-snoring nose strips in advance so I’m not rude.”

“Astrid! It’s relevant social commentary. It has to be better than that thing you had me watch with the space people,” Mormor protested. “I didn’t like the angry green man. I liked the blond gentleman in the tight pants, though. I could watch a whole movie about him.”

“Mom, you strumpet. Lucky for you, there are at least three of those. A Hemsworth for every day of the week.”

Mormor tsked before stomping outside to the car. Mom waggled her fingers at all of us, pausing to press a kiss to the top of Cass’s big bowling ball–shaped head, and then one to the top of my big bowling ball–shaped head.

“Be cool, my babies. Actual babies and teenagers alike. We’ll see you later.”

I made Cass’s tiny hand wave bye-bye and then, as my friends chattered among themselves, as Leaf adjusted his grip on me so I could better lean against his chest while I held my daughter, I realized how good things were. It wasn’t the life I’d planned. It wasn’t the life anyone would have probably wanted for me, but it was a life, and it was good.

And most importantly?

It was mine.

That’s all that mattered.

Keep reading for an excerpt from Dead Little Mean Girl by Eva Darrows

Acknowledgments

Acknowledgments

Every artist needs a good support squad and mine’s pretty fabulous.