I was here. I was fine. It was a beautiful day, and I was around people who gave me more love and happiness in a month than I’d had for seventeen years.I would never have to see those jerks again.And today was going to be a good day, damn it.So I got it together and finally looked back down at my best friend to ask, Did I tell you I stole a bottle of Visine once because I wanted to put a few drops into my dad’s coffee, but I always chickened out?Lenny snickered. No. Psycho. Did I tell you that one time I asked Santa to bring my mom back?I made a face. That’s sad, Lenny. I blinked. I pretty much did the same thing.Uh-huh.I raised my eyebrows at her. Did I ever tell you that I wanted to have like ten kids when I was younger?The laugh that came out of her wasn’t as strong as it usually was, but I was glad she let it out anyway. It sounded just like her, loud and direct and so full of happiness it was literally infectious. Ten? Jesus, why?I wrinkled my nose at her. It sounded like a good number.The scoff that came out of her right then was a little louder. You’re fucking nuts, Luna. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten-ten?That’s what ten means. I grinned at her. I said that was back when I was younger, not any time recently. I can’t afford ten kids.Still. How about… none?I glanced down the table again when I heard Thea’s sharp laugh. Okay, Only Child. I laughed. I think four’s a good number now.My friend beside me groaned before reaching forward to grab a chip, dipping it into the tiny bowl of guacamole beside it. Look, Grandpa Gus was basically my brother, my dad, my uncle, and my grandpa all rolled into one, and I had a bunch of kids to play with, she claimed. Whatever makes you happy, but I think I’m fine with zero kids in my future.I reached over and grabbed one of the pieces of fajita from her plate and plopped it into my mouth. Watch, you’ll end up with two, I told her, covering my mouth while I chewed the meat. You’ve already got that ‘mom’ vibe going on better than anyone I know.That had her rolling her eyes, but she didn’t argue that she didn’t, because we both knew it was true. She was a twenty-seven-year-old who dealt with full-grown man babies daily. She had it down. I was friends with my coworkers. Lenny was a babysitter for the ones she was surrounded with regularly.Like you’re one to talk, bish, she threw out in a grumpy voice that said she knew she couldn’t deny it.She had a point there.She picked up a piece of fajita and tossed it into her mouth before mumbling, For the record, you should probably get started on lucky number four soon. You aren’t getting any younger.I rolled my eyes, still chewing. Bish.Bish. ― Mariana Zapata, Luna and the Lie

I was here. I was fine. It was a beautiful day, and I was around people who gave me more love and happiness in a month than I’d had for seventeen years.I would never have to see those jerks again.And today was going to be a good day, damn it.So I got it together and finally looked back down at my best friend to ask, Did I tell you I stole a bottle of Visine once because I wanted to put a few drops into my dad’s coffee, but I always chickened out?Lenny snickered. No. Psycho. Did I tell you that one time I asked Santa to bring my mom back?I made a face. That’s sad, Lenny. I blinked. I pretty much did the same thing.Uh-huh.I raised my eyebrows at her. Did I ever tell you that I wanted to have like ten kids when I was younger?The laugh that came out of her wasn’t as strong as it usually was, but I was glad she let it out anyway. It sounded just like her, loud and direct and so full of happiness it was literally infectious. Ten? Jesus, why?I wrinkled my nose at her. It sounded like a good number.The scoff that came out of her right then was a little louder. You’re fucking nuts, Luna. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten-ten?That’s what ten means. I grinned at her. I said that was back when I was younger, not any time recently. I can’t afford ten kids.Still. How about… none?I glanced down the table again when I heard Thea’s sharp laugh. Okay, Only Child. I laughed. I think four’s a good number now.My friend beside me groaned before reaching forward to grab a chip, dipping it into the tiny bowl of guacamole beside it. Look, Grandpa Gus was basically my brother, my dad, my uncle, and my grandpa all rolled into one, and I had a bunch of kids to play with, she claimed. Whatever makes you happy, but I think I’m fine with zero kids in my future.I reached over and grabbed one of the pieces of fajita from her plate and plopped it into my mouth. Watch, you’ll end up with two, I told her, covering my mouth while I chewed the meat. You’ve already got that ‘mom’ vibe going on better than anyone I know.That had her rolling her eyes, but she didn’t argue that she didn’t, because we both knew it was true. She was a twenty-seven-year-old who dealt with full-grown man babies daily. She had it down. I was friends with my coworkers. Lenny was a babysitter for the ones she was surrounded with regularly.Like you’re one to talk, bish, she threw out in a grumpy voice that said she knew she couldn’t deny it.She had a point there.She picked up a piece of fajita and tossed it into her mouth before mumbling, For the record, you should probably get started on lucky number four soon. You aren’t getting any younger.I rolled my eyes, still chewing. Bish.Bish.
― Mariana Zapata,

Luna and the Lie

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