After Mom went to jail, the court wouldn’t let Mallory have custody of me until she was twenty-one and employed, even though she wanted me, so I had seven months in the system. That was all I needed to see why kids who come out of foster care nearly always go bad. Mallory was finishing college in Florida, so she wasn’t around until I went to rehab, then she was trying to find a job so they’d let her have me. It was a long seven months.

When I finally came to live with her I was pretty messed up. It couldn’t have been easy to take me in. And on top of it, she and Jeff had only been dating, like, eight months. Me and all my baggage would have been enough to send most guys running for the hills, but Jeff treated me like a princess—like part of the family. Anything I wanted, he got it for me. He got me caught up so I could go back to school for my sophomore year. He’s always felt like the father I never had.

He and Mallory got married four months after I moved in, eighteen days before Henri was born. From there, it was all late-night feedings and burpings and the inevitable spit-up, doctor’s appointments, and poopy diapers. Tons of poopy diapers. But Jeff didn’t shy away from any of it. He was in poop and puke up to his elbows and never once complained.

And he and Mallory are still totally in love. Like I said: the picture of America.

I take the PATH to Jersey City, but my bus connection is delayed, so I’m even later than I’d thought. When I finally step up to their door and ring the bell, their big golden lab, Rufus, starts barking in the backyard. A second later, the door is flung open and I’m looking down at a four-and-a-half-foot person with a mop of sable hair and big gray eyes. Henri.

“Hey, buddy! How’s it going?” I say, ruffling his shaggy hair.

“Auntie! Come see what I made for Dad!” He takes my hand in his sweaty little one and tows me through the door, then waits while I kick off my shoes.

“Hey, Hil! I’m in the kitchen,” Mallory calls when we reach the family room.

“You need help?” I yell back as Henri drags me across the room toward his little brother, who is sprawled on the carpet, propped on his elbows, poking away at a laptop in front of him.

“See!” Henri exclaims, kneeling next to a Lego pirate ship on the coffee table in front of the worn green couch. There’s a big red bow attached to the mainmast.

“Wow, buddy. That’s really amazing. He’s going to love it.” And I’m not just saying that. Jeff and Henri are both Lego geeks. Before the night is through, they’ll have taken this apart and rebuilt it together. I ruffle his hair again and cross to his little brother. I fold my legs and drop onto the carpet next to him cross-legged. “Hey, Max. What ya doing?”

“Shhh!” Max hisses without looking away from the screen.

“Minecraft,” Henri says, coming up behind me and hugging my shoulders.

Max is madly poking at keys and staring at the screen as if we aren’t even here. He’s always been the serious kid. Though he looks like his dad, he’s just like his mom—totally focused and self-sufficient. Six going on sixty, Mallory likes to joke. That kid was dressing himself at eleven months and he potty trained himself by two. If you try to cuddle him, he’ll struggle out of your arms, and if you don’t let go, he’ll hit you. They say he’s high-spectrum autistic, but I don’t put much stock in labels.

God knows I’ve got a few that are bullshit.

Henri, on the other hand, has always been the cuddlebug. He’s just about the happiest kid I’ve ever seen, and even at seven, he loves to snuggle. Mallory calls him her “big ball of love.” When he was little and I still lived here, he used to crawl into my lap and cuddle against my shoulder, wrapping a strand of my kinky hair around his hand and sucking it with his thumb. The feeling of his little body burrowed into me tugged at my heart in a way nothing else ever could.

But I’m not cut out for kids. There are some people that were just never meant to be parents. The biggest favor they can do the world is to recognize it before it’s too late. So kudos for me.

Mallory comes to the door and props herself in the door frame between the family room and the kitchen. “I think I have things mostly under control, but if you and the boys could do the streamers in the dining room, that would really help. Jeff should be here in about fifteen, and I haven’t had a chance to do it yet.”

She doesn’t say, “You promised you’d help. Where were you?” but it’s in the twist to her mouth and the crinkled edges of her gaze.

“I got hung up at an audition and then the bus was running late,” I tell her, answering the question she didn’t really ask.

She spins back to the kitchen. “How did it go?”

“Shi—” I catch myself, but Henri giggles anyway. That kid doesn’t miss much. He’s always been one of the most observant people I know. I think he’s at the age where kids start thinking cussing is funny. I give him a look and press my finger to my lips to shush him before Mallory gives me shit. “Pretty bad.”

“Bummer,” she calls from deeper in the kitchen.

Tell me about it.

I stand and grab Henri’s hand, tugging him up. “Let’s go decorate for your dad.”

He grins at me and charges into the dining room.

Mallory is a neat freak and the place is always spotless, despite the havoc of two young boys. I liked living here. It was a good place to heal. But a year after graduating high school, I moved to the city. Mallory was pretty upset that I didn’t apply to college, but even that felt like too much of a commitment. And by that time I’d decided to chase my dream of stage acting for a living anyway. Idol auditions were coming up and I was sure I’d turn my success there into a Broadway career.

Three and a half years later, I’m still tending bar.

“Do you want to help, Max?” I ask, stooping next to him.

“In a minute.” He still doesn’t look up from his game.

He shakes my hand off when I ruffle his strawberry-blond waves, so I stand and follow Henri into the dining room. When I get there I find he already has the streamers open and has unwound most of the roll, which is lying in a mound at his feet. I look around the room at the antique dining-room set and chandelier. “So how do you want to do this?”

A grin lights up his whole little face. “I want to decorate Dad.”

I laugh. “That would be interesting.”

He picks up the pile of streamers. “I’m going to tie him to his chair with these.”

“Maybe you should ask your mom about that.” I think it sounds fun, but I’m pretty sure that’s not what Mallory had in mind.

“Mom!” Henri wails, running toward the kitchen just as Rufus starts barking again. A second later, the front door swings open and Jeff steps through. Henri abruptly changes course and launches into him. “Dad!”

Jeff slips off his shoes then stoops down to hug him. “Hey, champ. How’s tricks?”

Henri climbs on his dad’s back as Jeff stands. “I’m going to tie you to your chair!”

“Really . . . ?” Jeff says with a grin. He gives me a wave as he piggybacks his son past me into the kitchen. “Hey, Hilary.”

“Happy birthday,” I tell him.

There’s a tug on my jeans and when I look down, Max has finally pulled himself away from the computer. I take his hand and we follow Jeff and Henri.

“Happy birthday, Daddy,” Max says quietly as we catch up to them in the kitchen.

Jeff has set Henri on the counter, where he’s happily swinging his legs and banging his heels into the cabinet below. He stoops down and waits for his youngest son to come to him. Max slowly makes his way the few steps between him and his dad, and Jeff folds him into his arms, hugging him tightly. But a second later, Max is backing out of his grasp and Jeff lets him go. It’s like Jeff craves his son, but knows Max can only handle so much. He’s willing to play by Max’s rules, greedily taking whatever affection Max will offer, but never pushing for more.

I wish I had a dad like Jeff.

I look at them together. Jeff is on the short side with a stocky build. His eyes are dark brown and his face is strong. Max is his spitting image except for his strawberry-blond waves. Jeff’s hair is sandy brown and bone straight.

“Happy birthday, Mr. LaForte,” Mallory says, stirring something simmering in a cast-iron skillet and smiling down at them.

“Why, thank you, Mrs. LaForte,” Jeff says with a grin. He stands and moves to Mallory at the stove, planting a kiss on her lips so tenderly that I have to look away. It feels too personal. “So what’s this about tying me to my chair?” he asks her as their lips part.

Mallory shoots me a look.

“I’m going to tie Daddy up!” Henri announces, banging both heels hard into the cabinet to punctuate his point.

Jeff’s gaze shifts to him, then back to me.

“With the streamers,” I clarify. “He wants to decorate you.”

Mallory rolls her eyes and turns back to the stove, stirring the pot. “You’re early,” she tells Jeff. “Dinner won’t be ready for another fifteen minutes.”

Jeff tugs at the collar of his button-down shirt. “Good. Then I have time to change.” He swings Henri off the counter on his way past, and his oldest follows him to the bedroom as Max goes back to the computer.

I lean into the counter. “So if you’re okay with the whole bondage thing, I guess I don’t need to put up any streamers.”

Mallory shoots a look over her shoulder. “Then make yourself useful and fill that pot with water and put it on to boil,” she says, tipping her head at a pot on the back burner.

I take it to the sink and start the water.