Total pages in book: 46
Estimated words: 44188 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 221(@200wpm)___ 177(@250wpm)___ 147(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 44188 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 221(@200wpm)___ 177(@250wpm)___ 147(@300wpm)
Three of the older children bang out the door and race down the steps, laughing like they’re up to no good. Which I fully applaud.
I step inside. “Hey, everyone!” I call out.
“Lia! Whatcha got there?” My Uncle Juan—my mother’s brother—peers into my pan and snags a chunk of brownie where it crumbled up when I cut it. “Mmm.” He pops it into his mouth. “That’s a winner.”
I twist to hold the pan out of his reach and walk past him to the kitchen toward the long table packed with every other dish of party food brought by the masses. Like my crazy family, a combination of Puerto Rican—my mom’s side, and Irish—my dad’s, favorites. Plates heaped with fried plantains, sliced jicama with lime squeezed over it, cilantro rice and beans, plus the platter of barbequed meat—hamburgers, hot dogs, bratwurst, Italian sausage. Packages of buns riddle the table, along with every condiment known to man.
I plunk the brownies down as my brother, Tommy, sweeps by and grabs a handful of chips. “There’s the little traitor.”
They like to rib me for joining the fire department instead of the police force. As if they ever would’ve let me follow them into the profession. I give him a hug and kiss my niece, Madison, the cherubic three-year-old perched on his hip. She kicks to be let down and runs off to join the rest of the kids.
My mom gets me next, with the two-cheeked kisses and a stream of chatter I don’t even hear. I have this automatic tune-out that happens when I’m here. I’m so used to being talked over, unheard, projected on, that I just sort of settle into the hologram of what they see me as. I swear, until the day I packed up to join the Forest Service summer hotshot crew, no one comprehended I really intended to pursue my ambition to become a firefighter.
I still don’t think anyone believes I can do it.
“Hey, squirt.” My brother Eddie wraps an arm around me from behind, picks me off my feet and gives me a shake. “Yep. Still tiny.”
“Small in size, not in personality,” I sing. Again, this is routine. I could do it in my sleep.
“Hey, there she is!” My dad gives me a kiss. “You giving them hell over there?”
“Yep, Dad. All good.” I pat his shoulder. Don’t need Dad or my brothers to go apeshit protective on me. Because Lord knows, they would.
He shakes his head. “I still don’t like the idea of you—”
I hold up my hand. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know—way too dangerous for your little girl. I can take care of myself, Dad.”
My father looks genuinely pained and I experience a moment of remorse. I’m sure he does worry about me. And it’s true this job is dangerous. But no more or less dangerous than being a cop, which was fine for all of my brothers.
It’s the curse of being the youngest, a girl, and the only one in the family who got my mother’s height. It’s like they will forever think I’m still that little girl running around in footed pajamas or something.
All he says is, “I sure hope so, sweetheart,” and ambles on.
I fix myself a plate of food and head outside to the back, where more meat is being grilled by the man-pack gathered around. This is where I feel like I don’t belong. I’ve always had that sense. The women here are all talking about the children, and families and stuff that doesn’t interest me. Before there were nieces and nephews, they were talking about girl shit that didn’t interest me. I can fake it, but I always have that sense I’m a stranger in my own family. I open a folding chair and plunk myself down on it.
My oldest brother, Alex, sets up a chair beside me. “So?”
“So, what?”
“The guys hazing you?”
I roll my eyes. “That’s what Dad asked, too. Are you going to go kick their asses if I say they are?”
“Hell yeah, I’m going to kick their asses! Nobody messes with my baby sister.”
I bump shoulders with him and stand up. “I can take care of myself.”
“Wait up, Lia.” I turn back. “I got a friend over there—not at your station, but he’s a battalion chief. He told me they’re taking bets on how long you’ll last.”
Seriously?
Even though I’d guessed this much, hearing it confirmed sends a flush of white hot anger and oily humiliation mixing in my veins. I suddenly hate the men I work with, and my brother for relaying this shit to me. I blink rapidly, my eyes and nose burning.
“Oh yeah?” I square my shoulders. “What are you betting?”
He holds his hands up. “Whoa, whoa. I’m on your side.”
“Really? How is telling me that a help?” I snap. I’ve raised my voice, which gathers some attention from the family members around.