His knuckles are practically healed now as he knocks at the De Laineys’. He tried to take the florist’s advice. He really tried. He found an old comb in the free bathrooms by the sea and probably gave himself lice. But at least his tangles have been tamed? And … a lot of glitter resurfaced.
He also washed his shirt and spent all day drying it on the rails where the surfers hang out. Consequently he has the worst sunburn over his pale shoulders.
But he did an OK job, right?
So long as he doesn’t vomit in the De Lainey rosebushes between now and when someone answers the door.
That will not help.
There’s the click-clack-click-clack sound of a small De Lainey on a trike, likely doing laps around the kitchen table. Deep in the house, a baby wails.
Maybe she didn’t hear?
He waits and waits, hands slick around the chocolate box that’s probably melting into a caramel puddle. Maybe if he leaves it here and—
The door shoots open, a full swing, which is more than the five centimetres he got last time.
Moxie stands there, tear-stained baby on her hip, wearing a yellow and white henley T-shirt covered in apple sauce and snot and green felt pen scribbles.
Her frown intensifies.
‘You,’ she says.
Sam holds the box of chocolates half in front of his face. Possibly proof his intentions are honourable. Possibly a shield. ‘Hi.’
‘Are you seriously not going to quit, you creeper?’
He reminds himself to speak. Don’t vomit. Stand up straight. Look her in the eye. Don’t lose it.
‘I just want to say sorry,’ he says. ‘And explain. And th-then I’ll go and I swear you’ll never see me again.’ He rushes the words so they slur together like he’s some nervous boy a heartbeat from tears.
Which is exactly what he is.
Toby appears behind Moxie’s legs and rams his trike into the wall. He falls off with a shriek of laughter.
‘There is no explanation,’ Moxie says, voice flat, ‘in this big wide world, that will make why you were living in my house make sense.’
‘I broke in,’ Sam says, voice high and breathy. She’s here. She hasn’t slammed the door. She’s listening. He’s maybe got five seconds. ‘When you were away. And I – I just needed somewhere to sleep and then you all came back and I tried to leave b-but your brothers …’ He stops, no air in his lungs. ‘You all thought I was someone else’s friend. So I stayed. Accidentally. I swear it was an accident.’
Moxie’s scowl remains.
‘And your family was so awesome …’ Sam looks at his undone shoelaces.
‘You lost me there.’ Moxie gestures to her shirt. ‘This little monster,’ she jiggles her hip and the baby’s lip sticks out, ‘just threw his whole breakfast at me and Toby’s been using me as an art board. I haven’t slept in two days because the baby’s teething and apparently I’m the only one he wants. And I’m like this close to screaming and losing my mind because they expect me to be their mother and I’m not and—’ Her voice catches, jagged and breathy. Then she narrows her eyes like she’s been caught, vulnerable and bare, and it’s his fault.
Gingerly, Sam offers the box of chocolates.
Moxie’s gaze snaps from the golden bow up to Sam’s pleading eyes.
She takes the box. ‘There’s glitter in your hair.’ She shoves past him, posture like a queen. ‘And you’re not forgiven.’
But she took the chocolates.
Sam’s heart dares to beat again.
Moxie plops herself down on the veranda steps, settling the baby beside her and then turning full attention to the box. She undoes the bow and the shadow of a smile passes her lips. ‘How’d you know to get caramel?’
‘That day I spent with you?’ Sam says. ‘You practically married the caramel sauce.’
Moxie raises an eyebrow at him, but it’s not caustic. She looks curious.
She plucks a chocolate and bites. For a moment, she’s forgotten Sam because her guard drops and she just looks like a frazzled girl who’s melting into the bliss of sweets.
Toby hurtles out the door, apparently sensing chocolate, and Moxie reluctantly hands him one to stop the incessant stream of ‘Please please please—’
‘Do yourself a favour,’ Moxie says to Sam, ‘and don’t collect brothers.’
‘I only have one.’ Sam shifts awkwardly, not sure if this is his cue to sit or leave. ‘Older.’
‘Older is nearly as bad, but at least toilet trained.’ She glares at Toby, who has chocolate all over his face. Then she looks up at Sam, the guarded look of queens and conquerors falling back over her eyes. ‘Time to start your working penance.’ She points to an upside-down kiddie pool on the lawn. ‘Fill it for the brats and then we’ll talk.’
Then we’ll talk.
Sam realises, with a pang, that he’d probably do anything she asked in this moment.
It takes longer than he anticipated to wrangle the pool into submission. The hose isn’t attached and Moxie gives no helpful advice, so he has to battle through that alone. Then flush out the pool. Then fill it. By that point, Toby wants to help and ends up untwisting the nozzle while Sam adjusts the tap pressure.
The hose is pointing at Sam.
Sam gets a faceful of water.
He gives a garbled shout and falls on his butt in a rapidly flooding puddle. When he finally gets the hose off Toby, fills the wading pool, turns the water off, and limps back to Moxie – he’s dripping and she’s laughing.
Laughing is good, right?
Sam plops on the step next to her and wrings out his shirt.
Moxie sticks the chocolate-smeared baby in the pool while Toby throws handfuls of grass in to totally destroy Sam’s attempts of fixing up a clean pool.
‘Oh, you should see your face,’ Moxie says, shoulders still shaking with quiet laughter.
‘I just got that pool all nice …’ Sam trails off as Toby runs over with a bucket of dirt and jumps in. ‘Never mind.’
‘Now you see why I look like this.’ Moxie drops back on to the steps beside Sam and helps herself to another chocolate.
He makes a mental note: when you’ve pissed someone off, bring chocolate first not last.
They sit in silence for a while as the babies destroy the pool and Moxie makes short work of the chocolate box. She holds it out to Sam and he hesitates, then takes one. He’s not sure that’s how apology chocolate works but he’ll do whatever he can to prolong this moment. Because it seems she’s accepted the apology.