‘That’s because you’re bald.’
‘It’s called a crew cut and it was for a good cause.’
‘Shotgun the shower!’
‘I’ll kill you, Jack.’
Jack glides past with a very self-satisfied smile and tosses a backpack on the sofa.
Directly on to Sam.
Sam catches it with his face.
‘Oh,’ says Jack, backtracking to stare. ‘Oh.’
Sam scrambles to his feet, clutching the backpack to his chest. He has to run. He has to run right now.
And then the back door bangs open and Moxie marches in, the babies tumbling after her. Her arms are covered in glitterised stickers and there’s grass in her hair.
‘My friend Sam is staying for dinner,’ she announces. ‘And isn’t it Jack’s night to cook? He better get his stinky ass in the shower.’
Mr De Lainey appears at the front door then, leaning on it to take off his boots. He narrows his eyes at Moxie. ‘Language.’
‘Sorry.’ Moxie raises her hands innocently.
‘I’m overworked and underpaid,’ Jack says.
Moxie waves vaguely at the room. ‘Show of hands who cares.’
Grady has his head in the fridge and Jeremy just smirks.
‘I hate you all,’ Jack says and then cuts another look at Sam. ‘Wait, he’s your friend? I thought you said you didn’t know—’
Jeremy throws his boot at Jack’s stomach and he lets out an omph. Jeremy flees for the back door and Jack chases with a roar, question forgotten.
Sam abandons the backpack shield since he’s apparently invited and slips over to Moxie’s side. ‘Do they … are you going to tell them?’ His throat is dry.
‘They still don’t know you were the creepy intruder,’ Moxie says. ‘But I’ll claim you as my friend and they’ll forget I said you weren’t. They’re boys. Their brains are the collective size of a pea.’ She looks at him. ‘Hmm, oops.’
Considering his recent decisions, she’s not wrong. ‘What will you tell your dad?’
Moxie sweeps her dishevelled hair out of her face. ‘Let’s worry about that later. Right now we get to play a fun game called “dinner time chore avoidance”. Oh, and I hope you had a nice nap.’
‘You shouldn’t have let me sleep.’ His voice is distressed, even though he tries to hide it.
‘You look tired, Sam. Now shut up and come and see my latest project.’ Her voice lowers to a mutter. ‘Because if I’m going to adopt you, then you might as well be a captive admirer.’
He is a captive admirer.
But not on the topic she has in mind.
He follows her dutifully to the corner of the room where her sewing machine is set up. They have to squeeze behind a bookshelf of toys and a play kitchen and then they’ve entered Moxie’s domain.
A tall shelf overflows with boxes of pins and patterns, material and lace. There are a dozen half-done projects scattered on her table and piles of scribbled designs in blue and red ink. A dress dummy displays a pinned outfit of emerald green. When he looks closer, he can see the pockets have been embroidered with tiny yellow daisies.
‘Is that the thread I gave you?’ He rubs a finger along them.
Moxie’s smile is wry. ‘Maybe.’
‘I am a solid admirer.’
‘You’re a solid weirdo,’ Moxie says, but he can tell she’s pleased.
Dinner is loud and messy and intoxicatingly alive.
Sam sits squashed between Moxie and Jeremy and he feels safe. Probably because he’s far enough away from the two smallest De Laineys, who still believe food is more fun to paddle in than eat.
Also because he’s far away from Mr De Lainey.
Sam just … he can’t with adults. They frown, they shout, they hit. Mr De Lainey seems like the opposite of that, but Sam’s tattooed the caution to his bones. Just in case.
It’s spaghetti, which seems to be the complete range of Jack’s cooking skills. Jeremy made garlic bread and now they’re arguing whether that counts as ‘helping’ and whether Jack is now required by household law to aid on Jeremy’s cooking night. The baby faceplants in a bowl of sauce. Grady eats and reads and doesn’t get a single drop on his paperback, which is probably a sign of dark magic. Dash has a sword bound with twine and twigs on the table and at least four people rotate in telling her to get rid of it.
Mr De Lainey leans over Sam and Moxie’s heads to get at the cheese and manages to give Moxie a half hug and then rest a hand on Sam’s shoulder for just a second.
Sam flinches.
But all the De Lainey father says is, ‘Sam, it’s great to see you again.’ He smiles warmly, squeezes Sam’s shoulder and then moves away.
Moxie pokes Sam’s leg under the table. ‘He’s the softest squish you’ll ever meet. He’s buff because he’s a builder, but trust me, he’s the kind of guy who saves spiders.’
Jeremy leans over, mouth full of spaghetti. ‘What are we whispering about?’
Moxie stabs at him with her fork. ‘None of your business.’
‘Less conspiracies, more eating.’ Jeremy deposits two soft rolls of garlic bread on to Sam’s plate. ‘I’m still concerned Sammy’s going to turn sideways and we’ll lose him for ever.’
‘We wouldn’t want that,’ Moxie says.
Sam shovels in food to hide the smile. His knee knocks against Moxie’s – an accident, obviously – and she gently taps him back.
‘So, Moxie.’ Mr De Lainey clears his throat. ‘I could only organise the concrete truck for this weekend, which means I need—’
‘Wait, wait.’ Moxie sets her fork down with a crack. ‘You’re taking my weekend now?’
Her father sighs. ‘Moxie …’
‘Oh, it’s fine.’ Moxie’s teeth clench. ‘Obviously I’m just a home-grown babysitting service.’
Sam casts an anxious glance at her, suddenly seeing fissures and fractures through the walls of the De Lainey life.
Moxie snatches her fork and stabs a meatball. ‘I am not their mother.’
‘Mama!’ says the baby, a handful of tomato sauce squishing through its fat fingers.
‘No,’ Moxie snaps. ‘No and no.’
The baby’s lip juts out.
‘Seriously, Moxie?’ Jack says. ‘Can we just eat without one of your self-pity sessions?’