Odd Mom Out by Jane Porter Page A

her lungs.”
    “She’s growing up.”
    “She’s nine.”
    “That’s what I mean. We’re entering the preteen years, and you have a girl. It’s only going to get harder.”
    “You’re not making me feel any better.”
    “I don’t think you will. Not until she turns twenty-five.”
    “You’re just feeling smug because you have three boys.”
    “I’m feeling smug because they’re with their dad.” Shey stretches her arms above her head and sighs deeply, appreciatively. “God, it’s a beautiful night. You’re here and I don’t have to work. This is my idea of heaven.”
    “You’re not missing your guys?”
    Shey shoots me a look as if to say I’m crazy. “I love it when they all go. Get those stinky boy germs out of the house and indulge in all the girlie things I want to do. Bubble baths. Pedicures. Chick flicks on DirecTV.”
    I lean back on the grass, consider Eva, who has sunk to her knees to begin scooping sand and pebbles into a little mound.
    With her long black hair swirling with the wind and her long smooth child arms trailing along the sand, my own heart catches, overcome by love, love, love.
    Stop the clock, I think, freeze everything right now. I want to remember this—this second, this moment—forever. I want to remember how lucky I was, how lucky I am.
    And I want Eva safe, I don’t want her to struggle, and I don’t want to worry about her so much.
    Shey shoots me a speculative side glance. “That’s a pretty heavy sigh.”
    Had I even sighed? I didn’t realize. “Was it this hard when we were in school?” I ask, making a little face.
    “Probably. You just didn’t happen to notice because you were the one making all the girls’ lives miserable.”
    “I wasn’t.”
    Shey rolls her eyes. “Did you or did you not live with your middle finger raised, your own little American flag flipping everyone off?”
    I laugh softly. She’s right. I did. I couldn’t help it. I could skate, ski, and snowboard better than most guys, and no girl could come close to doing what I could do. I took ridiculous chances, lived dangerously, pushing the ex in extreme. And if any girl dared to make a snide remark, I was pretty damn comfortable giving her a smack-down.
    Shey drains her water and puts the plastic cap back on the empty bottle. “I don’t know about you two, but I’m starving. How about we go find some dinner?”

    Eva falls asleep in the car on the way home from the restaurant. We ended up having nearly an hour wait for our table, and service was slow, which meant we didn’t even eat until close to ten-thirty.
    Back at the lake cabin, Shey parks the car and I try to wake my zonked-out girl. She doesn’t even stir. I end up scooping her up and carry her into the bedroom she’s sharing with me.
    Shey pulls back the cover while I lay Eva on the exposed bottom sheet. After covering her, I lightly kiss the top of her head and smooth the cover once more over her shoulder.
    “You better keep her grounded,” Shey whispers as we tiptoe out. “Because she’s going to be a knockout later.”
    “You say that because you’re her godmother.”
    “I say that because I own a modeling agency and have worked with Tyra Banks for four seasons on
America’s Next Top Model.
”
    We wander into the cabin’s kitchen, where Shey uncorks a wine bottle and fills our glasses. “And she’s got you for a mom,” she adds. “You’re not exactly hard on the eyes, if you know what I mean.”
    “Looks might get you a good table at a Manhattan hot spot, but they don’t guarantee happiness.”
    “Touché.” Wine in hand, Shey goes into the small rustic living room, drops onto the couch, and stretches out her long legs, then runs a hand through her thick, shoulder-length, strawberry blond hair. “I could get work for you two, you know. I get lots of calls for mother-daughter teams on the West Coast—”
    “No.”
    “You used to model.”
    “For one blink of an eye, and I hated it.”
    “You were