Page 12

I suck at relationships. I never had the time to get them right, so… I found a donor. Tall, dark, handsome. A Harvard Law graduate from Chicago. Super smart, impeccably healthy, and he loved dogs. Donor #7134-C. On paper, he was the perfect father to start a family with. Nine months later, my life changed.

Now, I have no issue flicking that off-switch in the evenings, even if it means just watching her eat a ham and cheese sandwich for an hour.

She’s my world.

Charlotte sits in her chair beside me at the kitchen table with that darn stethoscope in her ears. She holds a corner of her sandwich in one hand and the scope pressed against her neck in the other, listening intently to all the little inner noises her body makes as she swallows. Exploration. Science. I had a curiosity for it at her age, too.

“What’s that?” she says, mostly to herself.

“What’s what?” I ask.

She drops her sandwich and taps her hand against the table. Thump thump. Thump thump.

I smile. “That’s your heart, honey.” I lean over and take the scope, placing against my chest. “See? Mine does it, too.”

She listens closely, her eyes growing wide. “It’s loud.”

“I’m bigger than you. It’s supposed to be louder,” I say. “It’s pumping blood throughout my body. That’s hard work.”

“Blood?”

“It’s the red stuff in your body that...” I hesitate, searching for an answer that doesn’t get too gory. “Okay, you know how Mommy has to stop at the gas station every so often to fill up the car? Or else it won’t run anymore?” She nods. “Well, blood is like that, except it’s inside your body. It’s the stuff that keeps you running.”

Her curious eyes flick up and down. “Do I have to fill up, too?”

“No. Your body creates more of it on its own.” I lay my hand on my heart and thump twice. “Your heart is like a battery — you know those little silver things that power your toys?” She nods. “Well, as long as your heart keeps beating and your blood keeps pumping, you keep running. We help our hearts stay strong with a good diet and lots of exercise.”

Charlotte lays the scope against her own heart again and listens for a few seconds. “It’s faster...” she says, looking worried.

“That’s normal. Your heart rate can go up or down depending on a lot of things.”

“Like what?”

“Like... if you run from one end of the house to the other. Or when you’re excited or scared... or in love.”

She giggles. “Are you in love, Mommy?”

“Yes.” I poke her nose. “With you. Now, put the scope down and finish your dinner for me, will ya?”

She obeys, sliding the thing off and laying it on the table. I pick it up and place one earpiece in my ear as I lay the scope on my chest.

Thump thump.

CHAPTER 4

MILO

Ipick up my ladle and scoop a healthy portion of hot sauce out of its container to dump it on top of the burrito. It spills out and slowly spreads to the edge of the plate. My tongue bursts with hungry need, but I still have at least forty-five minutes left until I can break for lunch.

I drop the plate in the window. “Order 23!” I shout out.

A woman instantly shoots up from the bench about ten feet from the truck to claim it and I move on to the next order in line. Chicken tacos. That’s an easy one.

I zone out completely. I’ll admit, I never expected to work in a food truck, but I’ve grown to enjoy it. Mob bullshit only saunters through a few minutes a day. The rest is up to me and I take a little pride in being the Hot Sauce guy.

I lay another few plates out. “Who’s next?” I shout into the air.

I lock eyes with a woman in a jet-black suit outside the window. Her brown hair is locked behind her head in a tight ponytail. A single strand has broken free and falls down over her forehead. She looks at me with deep brown eyes and I instantly slide over to talk to her.