I fall in love with Penny the second I lay my eyes on her. Not true. I fall for her when she looks up from lying facedown on the living room rug and moans with wide, pleading eyes, “My kingdom. My entire kingdom for a Twinkie.”

He’s so handsome. Stupidly, unjustly handsome. I want to look at his stupidly, unjustly handsome face for . . . for as long as I possibly can. Could be a minute. Hopefully, it’ll be seventy years.

Levi cups my face, forehead touching mine. His hands—they are my home. “Bee. Don’t take this from us,” he murmurs. Ragged. Careful. Hopeful. “Please.”

I’m pretty sure a psychoanalyst would say that it has to do with the nomadic lifestyle of my formative years. I’m a stability slut, what can I say?

For instance, did you know that The Texas Chainsaw Massacre was inspired by a true story? Before Rocío, I didn’t. And I slept significantly better.

He’s so imposing from this angle, even more than usual. What did they feed him growing up, fertilizer?

SHMAC: I am, too. Though she’s still a bit skittish. MARIE: Skittish? SHMAC: For valid reasons. But I don’t think she’s quite ready to admit it to herself. MARIE: Admit what? SHMAC: That I’m serious about this. That I’m in it for the long haul. Or at least for as long as she’ll have me.

Awkwardness level: nuclear. I’m making better and better choices today.

“Gotta go. It’s probably Rocío coming to reiterate that I’m not her real mother. Or that after you die the enzymes in your digestive tract devour your body from the inside.” “Of all your colleagues, this girl is my absolute favorite.” “She was caught porking. On my desk.” “How does she constantly top herself?”