Blame It On Cupid by Jennifer Greene
By Jennifer Greene
Cupid is somewhat cranky!
Eleven-year-old Charlene is now not inspired with Merry, her new dad or mum. sincerely the lady wishes a few significant assist in the parenting division. Their neighbor Jack may be the correct guy for the task -- however it does not glance as if the 2 grown-ups are ever going to party with out aid.
Jack acknowledges a short-distance runner while he sees one, and Merry matches the invoice. the attractive social gathering lady is so unprepared to take cost of the definitely fun-proof Charlene, he virtually feels sorry for her. nearly.
Merry has ultimately came across anything worthy combating for. Now all she has to do is work out simply find out how to struggle!
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Depends on the day. Usually before four. Unless there’s soccer practice or something like that. Until I was ten, my dad had, like, a babysitter here until he got home, but that was stupid, I told him. There ’s always somebody around the neighborhood if I needed something. ” Merry felt her heart lurch. Her heart had been regularly doing that lurching thing since she got here. The military looks and the taciturn expressions were worrying and disconcerting, for damn sure, but somewhere under all that attitude was an awfully miserable kid.
Merry felt so rattled she forgot what road signs she was supposed to be watching for. In fact, she was pretty sure she’d turned the wrong way out of the driveway from the get-go. This silent business just couldn’t go on. “Charlene—” she started to say. ” “Okay. ” Merry smiled, thinking,Oh God, could an eleven-year-old girl be suffering from gender issues? Or transgender issues? Or whatever it was called when one gender wanted to be another? ” Well, that at least forced a little more dialogue. “Of course people told me.
Just as he flipped the tab, he caught a flash of color in his kitchen window. He froze, thinking it couldn’t be her. Not again. “So I said to the guys, I said like…” “Uh-huh,” he said to his son, and bent closer to the window. Damn it and double damn it. Itwas her again. Sitting on the porch again. Her head in her hands again. This time, though, he was butting out. No discussion, no guilt. If she wanted to sit outside bawling her eyes out, that was her problem. He’d tried to be nice before, hadn’t he?