It wasn’t fair, but it was also a fact.
She stuffed another cookie into her mouth.
She needed to spend more time working with him at home. She needed to read aloud the books assigned for his English class. She needed to sit beside him and make sure he not only completed his assignments but actually rememberedto turn them in. She needed to create a system.
But she also needed to make dinner, do laundry, and drive four boys to ten different games, practices, and activities between the hours of 3:30 and 8:30 p.m. every day after school. And on weekends.
So when exactly was she supposed to quiz him on the periodic table? When they stopped at a red light? Because that was the only time they could realistically squeeze it in.
Plus she hadthree other kidswho also needed her time and attention. Like Matthew, a deep thinker and quiet perfectionist who had a harder time making friends.
And James, the social butterfly who tended to be attracted to the rowdiest kids in his class.
And then Johnny, who had less athletic ability and was having a hard time finding his place in the world, which meant he needed to tryallthe sports, plus every activity from LEGO Robotics to Scouts to chess club to Odyssey of the Mind as he searched for his “passion.”
Because as a modern mother, she was expected to help her children find their passion, preferably in time to write a compelling essay about it for their college applications.
She ate four more cookies, then printed the list of missing assignments. She would sit down with Luke on Sunday night and try to get a handle on things. If they worked hard, they could get his grades up before the end of the quarter.
They.As in she and Luke together. She would be repeating sixth grade as a forty-two-year-old woman.
She reached for another cookie. Shame flushed her cheeks as her fingers brushed the crumbs at the bottom of the empty bag.
Stop.
She crumpled the bag. This needed to stop right now.
How much did she weigh? Did she even know anymore?
She hadn’t seen the scale since the move. It had become one of the many mysterious objects that disappeared into a packing box in Minnesota but had not yet emerged on the other side of the moving black hole here on the East Coast.
She tossed the cookie bag into the trash and headed for the unfinished part of the basement, a no-man’s-land of unpacked boxes, in search of the bathroom scale. They’d shoved everything in here after unpacking the essentials like underwear, pots and pans, the Nintendo Switches, and the TV remote.
Her gaze roamed over the canyon of cardboard stacked almost to the ceiling, each box labeled with her husband’s messy print or her own neat cursive.
She frowned as her gaze came to rest on four boxes in the far corner, behind the hot-water heater, marked with unfamiliar handwriting.
She moved closer. A thick layer of dust covered the boxes, and they looked older than the packing boxes that held the rest of their belongings. They must have been left behind by the old couple who’d sold them the house.
They were lovely people, Henry and Myrtle DiLorenzo, the grandparents of her husband’s best friend from college. He’d grown up in this area and helped her and Garrett find a place to live.
They’d brokered the deal without using a real estate agent, and the DiLorenzos had asked less than market value because the house hadn’t been updated since it was built in the 1960s. They’d replaced the roof and windows and appliances as needed. But everything else remained the same. Tiny kitchen and tiny closets. Popcorn ceilings. Wood paneling.
The old couple had been told their home would be torn down if they put it on the market, so they were delighted to sell to a family with children who planned to live in it instead of demolishing it.
Now Henry and Myrtle lived a few minutes away in a retirement village. Kiersten had intended to pay them a visit and bring a housewarming gift, but of course, she hadn’t actually found time to do this yet.
Another thing to feel guilty about. But now she’dhaveto pay a visit, if these boxes belonged to them.
She crouched on the cold concrete floor and unfolded the cardboard flaps. Dust rose in the air, making her sneeze as she peered down at a neat stack of large hardback books covered in green and cream-colored leather.
A wave of nostalgia washed over her as she removed the one on top and ran her fingers over the letterCembossed on the cover.
Encyclopedias.
A flash of recognition made her smile. Her grandparents had owned a set just like this. As a girl she’d sat on the floor for hours, looking at the pictures and reading about Africa, bats and cougars, Lichtenstein, Mount McKinley, and zebras.
She lifted the volume into her lap and opened it.
