When I join Remi downstairs, I’m wearing a pair of faded denim shorts and a tight T-shirt that says “Focus on the Goods” across my boobs—Candee’s choice. Candee’s T-shirt.
He pathetically fails to keep his gaze off my boobs until I join him near his bike. Mission accomplished, Candee.
When I stop before him, he takes the helmet, places it over my head, and starts strapping it under my chin. He keeps his hands there for a few more seconds and then lets them drop. “Ready?” he asks, and in one swift move, he’s on the bike, strapping his own helmet.
“Yeah.” I place my hands on his shoulders, as leverage, and climb on the bike behind him. My twitchy hands snake their way around his abdomen, appraising how wonderfully rigid the muscles feel there.
***
“Kaciiiii …” I hear my name being yelled with zeal before seeing the wheelchair making its way to me. “You came.”
“I did.” I crouch and give a playful tap on her nose. I can’t help but notice that her hair is tangled.
Her giggles light up the room as she takes my hand in hers. “Come with me.” She wheels herself with her free hand.
I start to grab the wheelchair’s handle when Nicholas enters the living room, biting into an apple. “Hi, Nicholas.” He shakes his head at me, pointing at my hands before throwing Remi an apple. I pull my hands back.
“Wylla doesn’t like anyone touching, or worse, steering the wheelchair,” Remi murmurs, his breath tickling my ear.
One side of Nicholas’s lip lifts in an attempt to smile, and he nods his greeting. I guess I’ll consider myself lucky since one side of those lips lifted to smile at me. After a mental eye-roll, I see I’m being led to sit on the couch.
“I have a support group where we do a lot of fun stuff. And I have a lot of friends there.”
“I don’t doubt that,” I comment, taking my phone out of my pocket and placing it on the nearby table before taking a seat.
“So”—she wheels herself until my feet and hers are touching—“I need to look the prettiest.” The seriousness in her expression makes me nod in agreement.
“Then, let’s get to work. How much time do we have?”
She glances at me under her lashes and gives a helpless look at Remi, who is leaning on the wall, near the door, looking at us. Mirth dances in his eyes. “Ten minutes,” he says after swallowing the apple in his mouth.
My gaze snaps back to Wylla, and she shrinks. “It’s Remi’s fault.” She fixes him a look. “He took his sweet time bringing you here. And you should have seen what these two did with my hair. We almost had to cut it.”
I gasp, showing her my sympathy. “That’s terrible.”
“They were laughing at how bad my hair looked.” She sends them a sidelong glance, a blush staining her cheeks.
“We’ll need to have a little talk about not laughing at Wylla,” I scold the boys, and they dutifully nod, not daring to break into laughter.
“Remi brought a knife to cut it, saying he couldn’t find the scissors.” She cut him a dark look.
“That is very bad, Remi. Very bad indeed. No one is cutting Wylla’s hair. And with a knife, that’s awful.” I get back to Wylla.
“And Nicholas doesn’t let me braid his hair.” She peeks at Nicholas before tucking her chin low.
I feign horror by letting my mouth fall open in shock. “Why would you do that, Nicholas? I mean, what’s the use of having long hair if you won’t let Wylla braid it for you?”
Nicholas stops the apple halfway to his mouth and arches an eyebrow at Wylla. “Because I’m not particularly fond of how I look when I have two pigtails on either side of my head.”
I snort and cough, hiding my laughter, imagining Nicholas in pigtails.
“He didn’t look that bad,” Wylla mumbles, giving Nicholas a deep frown. The latter narrows his eyes to slits. This banter makes me happy. They are all so lucky to have each other.
I sigh. “I’ll scold them some more later, okay?” Wylla nods. “Now, tell me how you want your hair done?”
She lowers her head. “I want my hair like DIY with Tacos.”
“Who is Tacos?” I glance at everyone in the room. Remi’s and Nicholas’s eyes are watering as they try to suppress their laughter.
Wylla’s head snaps up. “You don’t know Tacos?”
“No.”
“She’s a YouTuber, and she creates DIY stuff. She’s funny. I like watching her videos. See that?” she says, pointing at a paper wreath. “I did that with Mrs. Dunlop’s old newspaper by watching Tacos’s videos.”
“You did that?”
Her lips spread, and she nods. “I did.”
“Wow. You’re an artist. That’s beautiful, Wylla.”
“Thank you, Kaci. So”—she folds her hands under her chin—“the other day, she had her hair in this braid.” She asks for Remi’s phone and plays a video where Tacos is making a demonstration of how to make something with plastic bottles. Her hair is styled in a mermaid’s braid.
“You want the mermaid braid?”
“That’s what it’s called?”
“Yeah.”
Her eyes grow big. “I want the mermaid braid.”
“Then, we’ll do the mermaid braid.”
I ask the guys to bring me the hairbrush and hairbands I’ll be needing. I know I no longer have ten minutes, so I work fast. I braid her hair, loosen the strands, add some decorative pearls Remi brought me, and it’s done. She maneuvers her wheelchair and disappears from the living room.
“I need to learn how to do that,” Nicholas comments, finishing his apple.
“You want mermaid braids?”
“You never know. Might come in handy one day.” He shrugs and grabs Wylla’s backpack.
Wylla wheels herself out of the room. “I love it, Kaci. You need to teach my brothers these hairstyles. I don’t want to end up cutting my hair.”
“If we learn all of them, then Kaci will no longer come to visit,” Remi says, a smirk playing on his face.
Wylla stops her wheelchair and lands her gaze on me. “Don’t stop coming, Kaci. You’re my only friend who can scold Remi and Nicholas.”
“I’m not going to stop coming. Don’t you worry. Have fun.”
“I will,” she says, and Remi picks her up in his arms while Nicholas gathers the wheelchair. We descend the stairs, all the while Wylla’s face is hidden in the curve of Remi’s neck. She’s definitely scared of being dropped.
No one speaks on the way down. We get to the road just in time to see a white van with a “Cartwheel Angels” logo stop in front of the apartment. A few people come out to help Wylla and her wheelchair in the van. Wylla waves an enthusiastic goodbye, and the van disappears.
“I need to go too,” I say, turning toward Remi.
“I’ll drop you off,” Remi replies, taking the bike keys out of his pocket.
Nicholas steps toward me and dips his hands in his pockets. “Thanks for coming, Kaci. Wylla created quite a scene to have you come and braid her hair, but I’m glad you came.”
“I’m glad I did. And I got to scold you two. It felt good.”