He launches himself at me, giggling uncontrollably when I blow raspberries against his neck. “Hey, buddy! Did you have a good day at school today?”
He’s only two and a half, but with me in college and Mom working, he started daycare pretty early. Another mom-fail. I wish I could raise him by myself, but in today’s world, it’s just not possible.
I’m grateful for the social interaction and learning he gets at daycare, but I’d give anything to spend all day with my son. He’s my favorite person in the whole world, but I need to earn money. And that means he’s gotta go hang with other kids throughout the day.
He’s every bit as social as his dad seemed to be, so as hard as it is for me to let him go every morning at drop off, he takes it in stride and doesn’t look back. He loves his teachers, he loves his friends—except that one kid who threw a duck at his head on day one, and Wyatt has never forgiven her for it.
Don’t blame him. I wouldn’t forgive someone for splitting my head open with a toy duck either.
“Hey, sweetie.”
“Hey, Mom.” Squishing Wyatt against my chest, I smile at Mom.
She looks tired. She always looks tired. Working multiple jobs always seemed so cool when I was a kid, but as an adult, it just makes me want to do more, be more, earn more, so I can give back to her. I’d love to earn enough so she could quit one of her jobs and spend more time with Wyatt. But she gets good health insurance, and she’s stubborn as hell.
Thankfully, kids are covered under her medical plan until they’re twenty six. That gives me five more years to set myself up for success. She’s shouldered so much of the weight for years on end—I want to give back. And I want to be everything to Wyatt that Mom was to me, even with all her jobs and spinning plates.
“Eloise called over on her way to visit her dad. Said she has tickets for the game tonight and was wondering if you’d like to go.”
Oh no.
“Which game?”
Mom angles herself so her back is to me. “I think she said it was hockey,” she says with false levity. She knows how much I loathe the game.
That’s not true. I loathe the players, not the game. As a sport, hockey is my favorite. But I’ll never admit it out loud. I miss the smell of the ice and the sound of bones crunching against the boards. But I can’t risk running into my ex.
“It’s a Minnesota game. So she said.”
That’s code for “I Googled to make sure your ex-boyfriend wouldn’t be playing so you can go but I’m saying your friend said it so you don’t get upset at me for looking up your ex-boyfriend’s team.”
Mom-child-code is a hugely complex language.
“That so?”
She doesn’t turn toward me. I’m not sure what she’s doing in the kitchen, but it apparently needs her whole attention. “Mmhm. You should think about it.”
The forced upbeat tone in her voice starts to waver. “You need to go out and do something…uh…”
“Normal?” I supply. We have this discussion every now and then. She thinks my childhood was cut short and that I’ve missed out on the typical college experience because I got pregnant.
And while both of these things are true, she also seems to not believe me when I tell her I’m fine. My kid is my whole universe.
For some reason, I think that’s what she’s afraid of. Not sure why. Isn’t that the whole point of parents? To adore their children?
“Please, Victoria? For me?” Something falls into the sink with a clatter. “I’d love to see you go out with Eloise more. Let me spend time with my grandbaby while you go and do regular college kid stuff. She seems like such a sweet girl. Did you know her mom died?”
She turns to me, eyes red-rimmed and welling. “Such a tragedy. I stupidly asked about her parents.” She sniffs. “Didn’t mean to step on an emotional landmine, but she handled it with such grace.”
“You chatted with her?”
Mom nods. “Made her tea and fed her snacks. Thought you might come back early. Such a sweet girl. And beautiful too. When she’s not hiding behind that curtain of hair to cover her scar.”
Eloise’s mom died in the car crash that gave Eloise the scar down her face. I’m determined to convince her to tie her hair up at some point. She has the best cheekbones. People spend hours with a million makeup products to get that look. And she’s hiding it behind her bright pink hair.
“So…is that a yes?”
She’s not going to give up. My phone vibrates on my lap.
