Women always think smaller is better. I couldn’t disagree more. I don’t want to grab onto bones. I want meat, thick bubble butt muscle that can withstand a spanking now and again. Carly certainly has it, and now I find myself needing a minute to give my mini meat time to stand down.

“You coming?” she asks over her shoulder.

I snicker under my breath at her question and move the pillow to cover my lower half. “Um, be there in a minute,” I say, clearing my throat.

Grandmas waxing lady parts, grandmas waxing lady parts, I think to myself. Finally, I take a deep breath, chuck the pillow back onto her bed, and run to catch up to Carly.

“Can we turn the music back on and dance some more,” I say as I run past her and slap her delicious ass.

She startles and squeals. “You know that is sexual harassment, or something?”

“You bet your ass it is,” I slyly say with a wink as I backpedal into the kitchen.

She shakes her head at my childish behavior, and I can’t help but laugh. This woman is my friend, albeit a status I would love to elevate, but a friend at the moment nonetheless. I can only imagine the weight of the stress in her life right now; how she’s not cracking from the pressure is beyond me. So any little comic relief I can provide, I will gladly oblige.

“Holy crap, did you buy the entire restaurant?” she asks, looking around at the copious amounts of takeout boxes piled on top of her table. “As good as this smells, my hips will forever pay for it and they already can’t take another hit.”

I lightly grab her elbow and turn her toward me, pissed that she would insult herself the way she does. “First, I didn’t know what you liked and I didn’t want you to have to just settle on something. Second, if you wanted to eat every damn morsel in the restaurant, I would be absolutely okay with it. In fact, I would pass you the fucking fork. And third, your hips are perfect. You are perfect. So, please don’t insult yourself in front of me; it only pisses me off.”

Her eyes search mine, looking for any untruth in my speech. It’s like she’s daring me to take it all back and call her the horrible names she’s apparently been called in the past.

She backs away from my grasp, pulls out a chair, and sits down at the table. “Well then, let’s have dinner,” she finally announces.

“Well, all right then,” I say with a nod, following her lead and sitting next to her.

She opens the boxes and scoops out small portions of everything available. They are so small that there is more plate showing than not. I follow behind her and scoop out the same entrees and place bigger piles of what she’s chosen on her plate.

“You had to know that wasn’t going to fly,” I explain when she frowns at me. “If we are going to clog up our arteries with unhealthy grease tonight, then we are going balls to the wall.”

I fill my plate and shovel a forkful of Low Mein noodles into my mouth, letting the droppings hangs from my lips before I slurp them back in. “Now eat, woman,” I add, pointing my fork at her.

She smiles, taking a large heaping forkful of food and shoves it into her mouth similar to how I just had. “Oh, my God,” she mumbles closing her eyes with her mouth filled. “This tastes so good,” she adds, covering her mouth and wiping her lips with a napkin.

“Told ya,” I laugh. “So, how did the meeting go?” I inquire now that she’s more comfortable with me and we are eating casually.

“You know, I never in a million years thought that fostering or even adopting through foster care would have been an option for me. After meeting Leah, though, I just can’t let her age out of the system the way Campbell did.”

“What do you mean?” I ask. Campbell is one badass chick, but I know very little of her past. She keeps it professional, which is fine by me. Besides, Casen handles most everything band related with her. Still, my interest heightened.

“She was close with a foster family that she lived with briefly growing up, but she never was adopted. When she turned eighteen, she aged out of the system. Sure, the state helped to set her up with some programs to get her started, but really, she was on her own,” she explains, the pain and sadness for her friend showing across her face.

“She had no family. We girls and Brooks became her family, but you could tell she always felt like she was a burden, that the holiday invites were charity or pity invites, even though they were the furthest thing from it.”

“So did you guys help pay for things like parents would?” I ask. It seems pretty mindboggling that Campbell would have just been unleashed upon the world like a tether in the wind. How that seems fair to do to a kid is unsettling.

She laughs. “You know, that is the one area that Campbell is very different from the typical kiddo in the system. Her parents died and the people who were supposed to care for her turned her over to the state. Well, she had a trust set up for her when she came of age. It was for her only, and it was a very large sum of money. Every few years, a little more is sent to her.”

My fork stops midway between my plate and mouth. “Whoa! So Campbell is some rich sugar momma?” I ask, stunned.

Carly giggles and nods. “I guess you could say that.”

“Converse and tattered jeans, rockabilly, Led Zeppelin listening, Campbell is, what, like a millionaire?” I clarify, still unable to eat.

“Yup, but no one else had access to the money, so no one wanted her. That’s how she ended up in the system so long,” she says before taking a drink of her water.

“That’s fucked up,” I spit out, pissed that people would put money before kids. If something ever happened to one of my sisters and I had to take care of my nieces and nephews, yeah, it would be difficult, but I sure as hell would do it. With or without a payday on the other end. You do it because it’s kids.

“It is,” she says softly. She then hesitates for a moment before continuing her story. “So, when she introduced me to Leah, it was like seeing a younger version of Campbell, minus the trust fund, of course. She is a great kid, and I can’t help but want to provide a home for her.”

I take a long look at her, examining her hopeful expression, letting her words wash over me before responding. “You know Leah is not Campbell,” I finally tell her. “And you can’t save every kid you meet.”

Her head snaps up to meet my eyes, her brows pulling together in dissatisfaction. “I know that,” she says defensively. “I just want to help. I want to do for a child, even if it’s just one child, what no one did for Campbell. There isn’t anything wrong with that.”

“Your heart is in the right place. I just hope you know what you’re getting into,” I advise.

“It’s kids, you never know what to expect,” she laughs. “Anyways, I have signed up for the class that potential foster parents are required to take and they have scheduled the visit to approve my home; then it’s just a waiting game. Eventually, I’ll possibly be able to adopt her since all parental rights have already been severed.”

“How long does this all take?” I ask, surprised at the hoops someone would have to jump through. I guess I always assumed it would be a relatively quick and painless process. A kid needs a home, someone is offering a good home, done deal in my book.

“As long as we don’t hit any snags, anywhere from one to two years for everything to be done, but the initial placement for fostering can happen within a few months.”

“What does the ex have to say about all of this?” I ask, taking another heaping bite.

She sets her fork on her plate and scrunches her face. “I don’t really care what he thinks anymore,” she murmurs slowly, staring down at what’s left of her meal.

“Thank goodness for that,” I pop off, pushing away from the table. “He stopped by here earlier, seems like a gem of a guy,” I add sarcastically as I gather our plates and take them to the sink.