I look at him, wondering just what the hell I could be right about. The corner of his mouth quirks up and he shrugs helplessly.

“It sucks,” he says, and burrows his hands into his pockets, his shoulders hunching down again, and all at once I’m struck by how fucking young he is. How young they both are. And he’s right. This really fucking sucks.

We stand there awkwardly for a minute until the silence gets so fucking loud that the kid apparently can’t stand it anymore. “I’m going to go return the truck,” he says, bouncing on his heels and looking at me like he’s waiting for me to say something. Finally I realize he’s waiting for my permission or say-so or some other dumb shit, so I nod at him and he’s out the door like a flash the second my head stops moving, leaving me standing there in their living room wondering how the hell is this my life?

But still, it could be worse. I could be living where they are, a kid myself with a baby on the way, stuck living in a shitty trailer on the bad side of Avenue. But they seem to be making the best of it. The trailer is . . . Well, it’s better than I thought it would be, I’ll admit it. On the outside, it looks pretty run down, but compared to the inside, it’s like night and day. The place is neat and tidy, even if it’s barren of pretty much anything personal. I can’t help but wonder just how fast Maisie’s parents kicked her out when she told them about the baby. There are a few warm touches here and there, but nothing that could really identify it as belonging to either her or York. To be honest, it looks like they left in a hell of a hurry. And as nice as they’ve tried to make it, just looking at it causes a pit to form in my stomach. At least my parents packed my shit up for me. At least they didn’t kick me out at eighteen like Maisie’s parents. Yeah, she has her brother, and York apparently doesn’t care that his big sister had gotten herself up the duff, not when he’d followed after her. I don’t know how they did it. At eighteen I was a fucking dumbass. I would have died.

For the first time since I got out of prison, I realize just how worse off some of the other people in Avenue are than I am. At least I have my stuff. And Bruiser.

And Star.

Thank fucking god for Star.

But even though it makes me sad, the place is decent, for a trailer. There are little blue checkerboard curtains hanging in the windows, a couple of mismatched pillows on the sofa they got from us, and an ultrasound photo taped to the fridge. It’s definitely better than what I’ll have once Star leaves.

Shit.

I don’t even want to think about that. Not yet.

I’m not ready.

And the really fucked up part? I don’t think I ever will be.

Shit.

I shift the stack of boxes I’ve been building, so that the tower of diapers isn’t in the way if Maisie or York need to get at anything in the kitchen. One of the old guys in the trailer park had let them borrow his pickup truck to get the sofa, and we’d been shuttling it back and forth all day, bringing over everything we thought they could need. I settle the last box onto the stack and wipe the sweat off my brow with the back of my hand before heading over to take a seat at the table, listening with half an ear to Star and Maisie chatting away in the back bedroom. Hauling out one of the mismatched chairs I settle in to wait until they’re done, but as I do my eyes catch on the bowl in the middle of the table. It’s filled with cherries, ripe and red and awesome-looking. It’s also absolutely fucking huge. It’s like if someone had asked the freaking big friendly giant if he wanted some cherries, and then had to keep filling the bowl until the fucker said when.

The door to the trailer jerks open with a clang and York bounds up the stairs. He must catch me staring at it, because he laughs and settles into the seat across from me. “I wouldn’t touch those if I were you, man,” he says, nodding toward the bowl. “They’re Maisie’s. She’s been craving them like mad ever since the start of her pregnancy.”

“Seriously?” I’ve heard of pickles and ice cream and crap for pregnant women. But cherries?

He nods, all grave and shit, but his eyes are full of mischief. He reaches out and kind of spins the bowl around, showing off the fruit. Watching it is almost hypnotic. I’m fucking starving. Hauling stuff around all day is hard work.

“It was all she talked about for ages, man,” he says. “Cherries. She didn’t want anything else, but they were super expensive and the grocery store ones were terrible since they were out of season.”

“These ones look pretty good,” I say, mouth watering, and he nods.

“They are. Season just started. But man, it’s not worth it. I tried to steal some the other day, and I swear to god, I thought she was gonna cut me.” He looks up at me and grins. “I’m kinda thinking I might steal some now, and blame it on you, though.”

“Fuck, throw me under the bus, why don’t you?” I laugh as he spins the bowl around again. “I’d rather not be the focus of a pissed-off pregnant chick, if it’s all the same to you.”

“And why would I be pissed off?”

York and I both jerk violently in our chairs at the voice, and I spin around. Maisie’s standing in the hall, hands on her hips, belly sticking out, eyes darting back and forth between me and York, but she doesn’t look mad. Not really. Instead she look like she’s caught halfway between glaring and laughing at us. Star, on the other hand has gone straight to laughter. She’s standing directly behind Maisie and she looks like she’s about to piss herself, she’s trying so hard not to laugh.

Guess she doesn’t want Maisie pissed at her, either.

Little Mama’s gonna be a force to be reckoned with, I think, and grin as Maisie steps forward and scoops the gigantic bowl of cherries off the table and cradles it to her chest like a bear protecting her cubs, glaring at each of us in turn as we burst out laughing.

***

It is weird, but after that, cleaning out her mom’s stuff seems to be less of a chore for Star, and more of a treasure-hunt. All of a sudden, it became less about getting rid of stuff, and instead turned into searching for stuff to give to Maisie and York and the baby.

“York could use this to fix up the trailer.”

“Oooh, Maisie would like this, don’t you think?”

“This would be great for the baby,”

I hear it a thousand different ways about a thousand different things that Star collects and puts aside, and every couple of days we take a new load of stuff out to the trailer park for them. They are always thrilled, and that makes Star grin like a kid at Christmas.

“You know,” I say, as she drags another box with the word baby scrawled on the top flap across the room, heading for the front porch. “You can’t save everything for York and Maisie. Otherwise their trailer is going to end up looking like this house. Or worse, considering the fact that this place is a hell of a lot bigger than theirs.” I light my smoke and breathe it in, mentally grinning at the thought of their tiny trailer literally bursting at the seams. But Star isn’t laughing.

Instead, silence fills the space like a balloon, and I look back over my shoulder at Star. She looks absolutely wrecked. “What?” I ask, panicked. “What is it?”

She’s not even touching the box anymore. It’s sitting on the porch, abandoned, as she backs away from it like it’s on fire. She’s got her hands over her mouth, and her eyes are huge. She’s freaking out, and I have no idea why. “Star?” I ask, moving toward her. “What’s the matter?”

As soon as I touch her, she breaks. Her hands drop from her mouth and she’s reaching for me. “Oh god,” she says, and I drop my smoke and wrap her up in my arms. She buries her face in my neck. “I’m turning into my mother.”