“We are never so defenseless against suffering as when we love.”

–Sigmund Freud

My head aches when I wake up the next morning and discover that the house is empty. Even Zeus is gone, which fills me with the same hollowness that I haven’t experienced for a few months now.

I reach for my phone and see that Kendall sent me a text.

Kendall: I TT Wes. sry I didn’t tell u. Plz don’t h8 me. :( Ill tell u ne thing u want 2 know.

The text was sent over an hour ago, and I’m sure she’s fretting because I haven’t responded.

Me: That’s okay, I preferred not knowing.

Kendall: :(

I grip my laptop bag and head outside to soak in some Vitamin D and distract my thoughts with school work.

Dr. Maxwell Fitzgerald: I MISS YOU!!!

I grin as the instant message pops up on my screen seconds after I log into the lab’s intranet.

Harper Bosse: :) I miss you too.

Dr. Maxwell Fitzgerald: How are things going?

Harper Bosse: Fine

Dr. Maxwell Fitzgerald: L-i-a-r

I hate texts and other instant messages for the reason that I can never tell if someone’s fishing, being sarcastic, or somehow knows the truth, but with Fitz, it’s likely the latter. At one time I used to think I had a pretty good poker face, but these days it seems like everyone sees through my smoke screens.

Harper Bosse: It’s already 80 out

Dr. Maxwell Fitzgerald: Have you seen your dad yet?

Harper Bosse: I will

Dr. Maxwell Fitzgerald: You know you can always talk to me, clear across the country or not. I’m always here for you. Day or night.

Harper Bosse: I do, and I appreciate it. Love you, Fitz.

Dr. Maxwell Fitzgerald: I love you too, H. I’ve got a meeting I have to attend, but I’ll bring my phone, if you need me PLEASE call.

Harper Bosse: Thanks :)

Dr. Maxwell Fitzgerald: It’s okay to rely on someone.

Harper Bosse: Go to your meeting, Fitz. I’m fine—really.

I wait for several minutes for a response that doesn’t come, hoping that I haven’t offended him.

I pull out my earbuds when a scream breaks over the music. My eyes dart to the corner of my screen to see that I’ve been working for nearly three hours. It’s just after noon so I know the others aren’t home yet.

A crash is followed by another blood curdling scream that makes me stand erect. Flight and fight instincts race through my muscles. I know Kendall’s scream, and that isn’t it, but I’m not sure who else it could be.

I timidly step forward and pull open the door. Yelling and laughing is followed by more screaming and the sight of the brunette covered in globs of red and yellow goop. Hank’s sons, Max’s nephews, the source of the giggling, dance around her. The goo still flies, along with something else that’s sticking to her.

I push the door fully open, but remain outside as I yell over their noise, “Guys, what are you doing?”

Colt jumps and turns around, revealing an economy-sized bottle of ketchup in his hands. My attention turns to Jack, who has a matching large bottle of mustard. Henniger and Levi each clutch a box of cereal, throwing it at her to add insult to injury.

“She said she wanted to play blob,” Henniger explains with a guilty smile.

“Oh yeah? Did you tell her what that entailed?” I ask, snatching the box of Lucky Charms and looking to Colt, the oldest of the four.

“It won’t hurt her, Auntie, she can wash it all off,” he states factually.

His reference sends a trickle of warmth through me, followed by a tsunami of panic, but Max’s girlfriend is too distracted to notice. I watch her carefully, still waiting for a reaction as she flings a glob of the ketchup, mustard, and Lucky Charms to the floor, accompanied by a growl that sounds angry enough to make each of the boys take a measured step back.

“You guys are fuckin’ monsters!” she screams. “I hate you! I hate you all!”

“She said the F-word!” Levi tattles.

She turns toward him and screams once again before stalking out of the room. I wait to hear the front door slam. Instead, I hear her stomp up the stairs. I take another look around at the kitchen that’s covered in fluorescent condiments and quietly sigh.

“Alright, weapons please,” I say, holding out my hands.

The bottles are nearly empty, an impressive feat considering their size. I drop them all in the sink and grab a roll of paper towels from the counter.

“Okay, here. You guys start wiping this up. I’m going to check on your victim,” I instruct, handing the paper towels to Jack.

“She’s not very nice, Auntie Ace,” Henniger says quietly, watching his foot rotate in circles on the floor.

I kneel beside him, placing my hand on his shoulder. “I think she’s just having a bad day. We all have those.”

He shakes his head vigorously. “She’s always like that!”

The news that this isn’t the first time she’s been around them makes my chest hurt. Levi’s giggles thankfully interrupt my spiraling feelings and I looked up to see Max’s girlfriend standing in the entry of the kitchen, still looking a total mess.

I stand up and step in front of Jack, who she’s focused an earth-splitting glare on. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you guys were in here. I didn’t know they were coming.”

Her lips purse and her anger-filled eyes turn to me. “I don’t need your help.”

“I…” Is she kidding? “I can see that,” I reply, glancing around to see nearly every surface affected by the mess.

“Fine.” She stalks to the kitchen table and lifts a large white purse that she carefully holds away from her. “You want to save the day? Great. Have fun.”

I hear her ascend the stairs again and moments later hear the water running, making me wince from her ease of knowing the house.

“See,” Henniger says in his four-year-old whisper, that isn’t much of a whisper.

I face him with a small smile and reach for his hand. “Alright, you guys start wiping down the floor. I’ll start tackling the higher surfaces.”

It takes well over an hour to get all of the stickiness and Lucky Charms debris picked up. I ultimately pull out the mop and wash the floors from the kitchen to the stairs, and then wash the stairs, leaving the path from the top step to Max’s door.

She returns as I’m putting the cleaning supplies away in the hall closet. Her hair is wet and she wears a dark green shirt with the name of a local bar across the chest, along with a tiny pair of shorts that are nearly invisible under the shirt that is clearly Max’s based upon the sheer size. She doesn’t say anything when she finds me watching her. Instead, she streams across the room and shuts the front door with more force than necessary.

After a round of popsicles, three games of soccer, four toasted cheese sandwiches, and one argument over whether I’m still their aunt, Max and Hank appear in the backyard where the boys and I are playing soccer again.

“Dad, Dad, watch what I can do!” Colt yells, picking up the soccer ball and dribbling it with his feet and knees.