Because I had a vagina.
Despite the lack of balls swinging between my legs, I'd never really been one of the girls. As much as I loved to put on a dress and heels and go dancing, I had far more in common with my brothers than with their wives, even though I adored them.
“Coming, Mama!” I called back, leaning down to touch a brief kiss to my father's cheek and pinching my youngest niece, Penny, on her cheek where she lounged in his lap.
"Good luck," my brother Lucas sneered, looking positively gleeful from his spot on the couch. The youngest of us all, he was the only one of my brothers who wasn't married and didn't have a wife that would scold him for tormenting me. The others snickered, reveling in my misery.
Even with the kids tearing around the living room, there was less commotion there than in the kitchen, where I knew complete and utter chaos waited.
"Here, come cut the mango," Mom ordered when I entered the kitchen of doom. She stepped away from her cutting board and wiped her hands on the towel she kept tucked into her apron.
"Let me wash my hands first," I said. Stepping to the sink, I swallowed back my anxiety at the stack of dirty dishes piled up in it. I forced a smile to my face, trying not to let any of the others see my reaction, as I squirted soap into my hands and scrubbed them together in the space that remained available to me.
It wasn't much, but it would have to do. If I touched a dish, I'd have to wash my hands all over again.
I counted to five, then did it five more times as I scrubbed, humming a tune to hide the serious task of timing my handwashing. I rinsed, turning around with a smile on my face and ignoring the damp dish towel hanging on the rack next to the sink. Two paper towels did the job in a more sanitary manner. I ignored the slightly knowing look on my mom's face when I tossed the paper towel into the garbage. I made my way back to the mango so she could occupy herself with finishing something that cooked on her massive six burner stove. Meanwhile, my sisters-in-law worked to pull the already cooked items out of the oven where they were keeping warm and plated them onto dishes.
"Happy Valentine’s Day," Joy said with a grin, greeting me as I carefully sliced the mango. I tried not to move too slowly, tried not to make it obvious that every piece had to be the same thickness, as I turned a bright smile up to her and finished with a slice.
"Happy Valentine's Day," I said back. I might not agree with her that there was something particularly happy about the day, but I wouldn't snub her either. If there was one thing my relationship with my ex had taught me, it was that a happily ever after didn't exist for people like me.
My particular brand of wild was enough to drive any man crazy. Nobody could tolerate my high energy at all hours of the day or handle the lows that came periodically. They weren't frequent, not even enough when I’d been younger for my family to pick up that they may be anything aside from the normal influxes of a hormonal teenager.
They didn’t want to deal with the fact that everything had a place, and nothing could be moved without me returning it to its designated spot. They didn't want to feel deceived because I hid it well.
As though functioning well came out of a desire to be deceptive and not just because I wanted to at least have a semblance of normalcy on the surface. I ran a boxing gym for shit's sake.
It was fortunate that germs and bacteria didn’t trigger my compulsions as much as general disorganization and clutter. Otherwise, I didn't know where I'd be. Not running my gym, that was for sure.
Men were disgusting.
The doorbell rang, and Mom's face perked up instantly as my sisters-in-law loaded the massive dining room table with all the food options. I dumped the last of the mango into the bowl with the onion, tomato, and cilantro. Giving it a thorough toss, I moved to the limes and sliced them in half to juice and pour over the top. The jar of shrimp paste waited next to the cutting board, and I scooped out a few heaping spoonfuls onto the top before carting it over to the table just as Duke stepped into the dining room.
"What are you doing here?" I asked in shock, leaning into him to accept his hug as the brute snagged a piece of mango out of the salad and shoved it into his mouth.
"Your mom invited me. Unlike my so-called friends, she didn't want me to be alone on Valentine's Day," he teased, his blue eyes twinkling as he took his usual seat and greeted the other women warmly.
"What happened to Allyson?" I asked, crossing my arms over my chest.
"Allyson was about three women ago, Sadie," Mom inserted behind me. "Duke refuses to bring any of them here. His mother says she doesn't get to meet any of them either. I assume that means he's enjoying the single life and not really committing to any of them," she lectured, and he grimaced in response.
Mom was a shark, rarely mincing words and never bothering to dance around subjects. There was nothing that made her uncomfortable. For someone who'd been born in a Catholic nation, under strict expectations because of the influence religion had in the Philippines, she'd adapted to the more open ways of the States thoroughly in her years with my father.
"Can we not?" Duke asked, eyeing her like she might snap and proceed just to torment him with discomfort. I snickered, pressing my lips together to hide my smile. I didn’t want to draw her attention to my dating life
