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I nod, giving her a kiss on the cheek before she leaves. When I walk back in the house, I enter a chaos zone, because of course I do. Granger is screaming at Parker, Sarah Jo and Mary Beth are fighting, bickering over the remote control, the pancakes burned because I forgot them on the griddle, and Otis, the dog, somehow chewed up Sarah's homework, literally. And then Parker starts throwing up because that's the next logical thing.
I look at Holt. His eyes widen as he takes this all in, because this happened while I was on the porch talking to Abilene for literally three minutes.
"I told you this was my life," I say as I walk into laundry room, looking for a bucket and wash rags, telling Sarah Jo I need a thermometer and speed dialing the pediatrician's office.
Holt is flustered. He's obviously over his head. The dog starts throwing up Sarah Joe's homework. Now I have two puking mammals and I haven't even drunk my coffee. Holt isn't hung over, but he looks like he's exhausted, probably because he didn't get much sleep last night. That's my fault. But hey, I didn't get much sleep either. I'm not complaining though.
I twist my lips thinking about Abilene's words. Maybe Holt is too good to be true. It's been three minutes, and I wonder what three days might look like, three weeks, three months, three years. Holt has no idea what life with Paisley Cassidy is actually like.
And I wonder if he really knows whether those three words, I love you, will hold much muster.
Holt
I stay and help as long as I can until I've got to go back to my mom's to relieve Luke. He has Saturday afternoons off, and I hate leaving Paisley, but by the third time I've checked my phone, she tells me to just go.
“I don't want to leave you like this.”
She laughs a little too tightly. "No, honestly," she says, "who do you think always does this? I've got it covered."
I hate going, but I know she's right. She usually does manage everything on her own. I've worked out that she works during school hours, eight to four most days, except for a few night shifts a week on Tuesday, Thursday, and Friday nights, when she has a neighbor watch the kids.
Weekends she's always home because the kids have Little League practice and ballet practice, not to mention accidents, illnesses and incidentals like today. Along with groceries and new shoes to buy, and the lawn that needs to be mowed. She's got a lot on her plate and heavy lifting that has to get done. I'm amazed that she does it with so much grace. Though she is stubborn, I can tell – which I like.
Of course, I wasn't going to mention that today and said, "I just did what I could to help." Which meant clean house, and ran to the pharmacy to grab some over-the-counter medicine for her brother. It seems like he just has a stomach bug, which might've come from too much popcorn and soda last night during the movie, along with pancakes and a hefty serving of maple syrup this morning. The doctor recommended some rest and applesauce and toast for 24 hours to see if that might do the trick.
For the dog, we made sure to tidy the floor and make sure he couldn't find anything to scarf up, and I ran a few extra loads of laundry while Paisley sat down with her sisters to have them hash out their argument. Apparently, they'd been getting frustrated at one another for getting into each other’s clothing the last week, and they haven't had a chance to deal with their drama.
While that was underway, I got in the garage and pulled out the lawn mower, and dealt with the lawn. Paisley’s younger brother, Parker, had a great time doing yardwork alongside me. I showed him how to deal with the dandelions and got him a bottle of weed killer to save his sister some work. I hated to leave the house at all. I could have stayed there all weekend, a few more weeks easy, but I knew I needed to go for my ma.
Driving away was killer, though. I didn't want to go. I wanted to stay with Paisley. Not just because I wanted to kiss her, hold her, touch her, love her – but because I wanted to make her life easier. And I want to get to know her.
I have a lot of catching up to do, and I hate that she's carrying so much weight on her shoulders. I want her life to be happy, easy.
When I get home, I tell my ma all about Paisley while she makes a batch of brownies. I talk about Paisley’s voice, how she should be up on stage, singing her heart out. I walk her through the recipe. Brown sugar, creamed butter, eggs, chocolate chips, cocoa powder. We preheat the oven and butter a dish. The brownies, once they're out of the oven, are delicious, and we eat them with glasses of milk. I turn on that Willie Nelson song. I want my mom's eyes to light up, and for a moment, I think she might remember something.
