Matty laughs again, completely wrapping an arm around my knee.
“Josh, Matty. Matty, this is my friend Josh.” I then introduce Matty to Tommy, Alex and Eli.
Matty takes all this in, and when he wants to, he waves at them.His blue eyes go over each of them, their different heights, their similar clothing.
“You sure do have a lot of boyfriends, Sera.”
“I do not!” I can feel my cheeks burning. I look at the kid, completely aghast. He’s four, what does he know about girlfriends and boyfriends? “These are my friends, and none of them are my boyfriend.”
Matty shakes his head, staring up at me, his chin attached back to the side of my leg.
“I don’t get it.”
I grin down at him. Josh belts out his custom-belly laugh that has everyone joining in. And I was nervous about them coming over. My four boys are just oversized kids to begin with.
“You will when you’re older, my man,” says Tommy, ruffling Matty’s hair. The static raises it up high and around so he looks like he’s got a black halo on. “C’mon, Katie, put the chips out. I’ve got the tomato pizza. Josh has got the beer. Sera’s covered dessert. And you, Alex? Too busy to bring anything?”
Alex flips him off after opening a Rickard’s. “Kiss my ass, Russia. I was running late from work, alright? Not that I should explain myself to you.” Bloody hell, those two. Like a married couple.
I feel a tug on my jeans, look down at Matty’s confused face. “I thought his name was Tommy.”
“It is. He and his family are from Russia,” I explain, one hand waving into the distance.
Another tug on my jeans. The kid just might pants me. “Where’s Russia?”
“Far away from here.”
“Further away than the North Pole?”
Oh God, we’re not playing this game. “Ummm, well, Russia’s a big country, so I can’t really say we’re closer to the North Pole or not.”
“What’s a country?” I groan. Kill me. Kill me now. “I’ll tell you when you’re older. Why don’t you go help Katie?” I watch Matty scamper off into my kitchen, staring up at Katie like she’s a goddess. Not fair.
Tommy laughs, coming up to my side, a hand around my waist. “Are you adopting kids now?” Back in the day, I would notice how good Tommy looks in his suit, or the way his cologne makes me want to permanently attach myself to his neck and sniff all day. But I only do what I want to in the safety of my head and never in the real world. As if Tommy would ever want me.
“Oh, yeah. I do that in my spare time. You have mail-order brides, I collect children.”
Tommy smiles, playing with his gold ring that has a Russian crest on it. “Don’t be jealous, kitten. I could add you to my harem any day of the week.”
“Harem? That would make you a Pascha, not a Czar. Get your terms straight.” Tommy gives me another smile, knows he’s been bested and kisses my cheek.
I used to have a crush on Tommy, after the first few times after we met. The light brown hair, blue eyes and Russian accent were all super attractive to me, back in the day. But Tommy’s a loose cannon, and I’ve heard too much about his past exploits that I know he would never be faithful. As if he’d ever want me, anyway. But bloody hell, I love it when he calls me kitten. I had a lot of sexy dreams about him calling me kitten when we’re in bed. And now I’m starting to blush.
We start eating, the boys knocking the necks of their beer bottles together, saluting me with them as I’m not drinking tonight. I make sure Matty gets all the four food groups, heavy on the protein and veggies. I do give him a slice of cake, one little-person-sized and hope he’s too full to eat it all. He eats it all. Shit.
I’m sweating, waiting for twenty minutes to pass. I’m not sure what Matty’s routine is, but I figure if we check his sugar together a while after he eats, we’ll get a more accurate reading, and I can plan the dose of insulin he’ll need to take care of the food he ate.
I wash Matty’s hands, making sure he doesn’t have any remnants of sugar from the cake he ate by hand and refused to eat by fork. When I sit him on my kitchen counter, I lick my lips, blowing hair out of my eyes as I swab his finger for the second time today, getting everything ready much quicker than the first time around.
I hate it that he doesn’t flinch, that he just takes the pain. He shouldn’t have to do that.
It’s twenty-four. His sugar is twenty-four. Normal is between four and six.
I feel like I’ve been kicked in the gut, sucking back the pain, even as tears threaten to spill over. I sniffle, refusing any tears to fall down my face. My apartment goes quiet. I hear Suits in the background. I only have eyes for Matty, propped up on the kitchen counter, legs swinging back and forth.