All Kinds Of Kinds~Miranda Lambert

Really!?

Miranda POV
"You're awesome, mom!" Lacey said with a smile. I froze: did she just call me mom!? I'm sure I heard wrong...she's just acting like nothing happened!

I stared into my hands, surprised. "Was it something I said?" She asked me finally. I nodded, "Yes it was. What did you call me?" I asked, my smile getting wider.

The waitress set down our orange juices before Lacey could say anything. "You called me mom." Cue the orange juice explosion! Lacey drops the glass on the table, making it go everywhere!

She just stared at me, and I saw it in her eyes: fight or flight. Before she could do anything, I reached over and grabbed her arm. "Lacey, it's okay." I said, both of us were now soaking wet from her orange juice.

I looked down and laughed. "Good job, it looks like Picasso just made a new painting." I was wearing a white shirt that was now splattered with orange.

"Can I take your... Oh!" The waitress said, I could tell she was trying not to laugh. "I'll get y'all some paper towels." She said, rushing off. Lacey looked like she had no idea whether to laugh or cry.

"I..I'm sorry." She stuttered. "For what?" I asked, tilting my head. Blake's argument came to my mind: you can't raise a child! She'll be left alone a lot! I won't be around enough to be a great father! You'll be busy with your tour! And album!

I blinked and shook my head. "I'm not very hungry." She mumbled, getting up. "Hey! Sit down. Please." I begged. She sat back down and looked at me. "It's fine. Everything is okay." I said with a tiny smile.

We ended up getting our food and eating. "That was pretty good. Thank you." Lacey said, a bit more subdued than normal. I just left it alone.

I held open the door just in time for a camera to flash. "Great." I mumbled, putting back on my glasses. Lacey looked like she was about to get hit by a freight train.

"Come on!" I said, grabbing her hand. "Miranda! Tell us, is this did you cheat on your husband and have this child?" One reporter asked. That question made me feel angry, bristling with rage. Pretty damn ridiculous.

"I'd never do that to my husband! You're just sick!" I roared, one of the paparazzi dropped his camera in surprise. I grabbed Lacey's hand and hurried toward my car.

We jumped inside and I rolled down the window as one of the news reporters came over. "Miranda! Is this your child? That's what we all want to know!" I paused for a moment before nodding and rolling up the window.

We drove in silence, Lacey occasionally looking at me. I didn't say anything for practically the whole ride home. Was she my daughter? Was I ready to adopt her?

"Miranda?" Lacey asked. I jumped slightly and looked at her. "Yeah?" I asked. "Are you mad at me? Or what's going on?" She asked, clearly confused. "No..I'm not mad at you. I'm just thinking, that's all. Just a bit confused." I said, focusing on the road. A truck swerved into my lane and I hit the breaks. We both lurched forward and I sighed.

We didn't talk for the whole ride back to my house; Lacey went inside without a word. I walked over to my cabinet that held alcohol and opened it. I got my pink maragrita mix and set to work. I finally finished and sat down at the kitchen bar, satisfied with my work. I began to sip and took out my phone.

I hopped on Instagram, which I rarely did, my team did most of the posts, and shook my head. There were already comments from the papparazi videos. I rolled my eyes and looked at the comments. All of the top ones were defending me- thank god- and all seemed to be asking the same question: Was Lacey my daughter?

I was about to lock my phone when I heard a shattering noise! I jumped up and threw my phone on the counter. I ran to the guest bedroom and found nothing. Where the hell..? I kept looking all over the house until I finally reached the downstairs bathroom. Shoving the door open and looking around, I saw that the mirror was shattered! Lacey was lying on the ground, holding her arm.

"Are you okay?" I asked, extremely concerned. She jumped and looked up at me, tears in her eyes. "I shut the door and it fell." She said quietly. I carefully dodged some of the glass and helped her up. She had little cuts everywhere! "Okay, come this way." I said, guiding her with my arms, gently. "But I'll get blood on you!" She protested.

"It's okay. I don't really care. I just need to make sure that you're safe." I argued. Hearding her into the kitchen, I sat her at one of the barstools. She glanced at my margarita. "Don't even think about it. That's the last thing you need." I lectured her. She blushed and looked at me, her face was a bit pale.

I grabbed one of the washcloths from my cabinet and got some water on it from the sink. "This might sting. It's warm water." I warned her. I cleaned up all the little cuts on her arms and a few on her face. "I was standing when it shattered." She told me. "Hell, I'm just glad you closed your eyes." I laughed, trying to keep her busy. She was still holding her arm and it worried me. I ran to my master bathroom and grabbed a bottle of peroxide.

Running back to the kitchen, I set it on the counter. I grabbed the washcloth from Lacey and poured some peroxide on it. I gently rubbed it in all of her cuts while she sat still, occasionally moving from the pain. She was still holding her right forearm.

"Lace...I need to see your arm." I told her gently. She moved her hand and I gasped. "Lacey, you need stitches!" I said. She nodded, seemingly shocked. We rushed to my truck and she had barely shut the door when I took off.