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Maybe she’d take a little trip to the hardware store herself. After all, how hard can fixing a toilet be?
Apparently, replacing the guts in a toilet was a lot harder than it looked. After an excruciating trip to the store in which her children asked her for five bazillion things, she came home, plunked bowls of mac and cheese in front of them, then proceeded to try and fix the toilet. Her first couple attempts she got wrong. One led to the toilet doing nothing, and the next attempt resulted in tank water spraying her in the eye, which was fun. After over an hour of messing with it, she gave up and decided they’d wait until Monday. For now, they’d use the bucket of water trick and let gravity flush it.
“Mom!” A shriek pulled Mel from her prone position on the couch, where she was debating on what she’d make for dinner.
She jumped up and ran toward the sound, finding Peter in the bathroom, eyes wide and frantic, breath puffing from his little chest.
“What?” she asked, scanning him for injury.
He pointed to the toilet. “Brady flushed Spider Man.”
“What?” Mel’s jaw dropped, and she moved to get a closer look. She could just barely make out the red tip of his shoe. “How? It’s not even flushing. How’d he get it stuck?” She groaned and covered her face with her hands. “Never mind. Don’t answer that. I’ll talk to him about it, but first, I’ll see what I can do.”
Thirty minutes later, she couldn’t manage to remove the toy. His arm must’ve been bent or something. Mel didn’t know what happened, all she knew was that Spider-Man had died a watery death and wasn’t coming out any time soon. And now, the gravity flush method was not working.
Nine hours later, the toilet was half filled, the bathroom stunk to high heavens, and Mel gave it the night before the smell permeated the entire apartment. Not to mention, Peter was already struggling with going potty, so the last thing she wanted was to encourage them, even for the time being, to use training pants instead.
As Mel gave them baths, she debated on what to do. They’d be fine until morning, but the smell would be awful tomorrow, and they could only fill the toilet so much. Apparently, three four-year-olds used the potty a lot. The way she saw it, she had only a few choices. She could call up a friend and stay at their place, but taking on the four of them would be a major inconvenience. She could keep the triplets out for part of the day, then once they were home, they’d have to make a run to the nearest public facility with a bathroom, which was probably Tommy’s, a somewhat seedy convenience store. Or she could call someone else who knew what they were doing to help.
She sighed. The latter option was the obvious choice, so after some debating, she tried Mart
i to see if Logan could help, but she got no answer. The only other person she knew who could probably fix it was Blake.
Once Kinsley got out of the bath, Mel patted her dry, then glanced down at the phone again. He was her nanny, not her partner or her plumber. Heck, he wasn’t really even her friend. He was her employee. Though she could offer to pay him, fixing things in her apartment was not in his job description. She certainly shouldn’t be calling him on his day off to come and help her.
And yet . . .
She bit her lip, debating what to do as Brady burst into the bathroom, declaring he had to “Go bad!”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
BLAKE
Classical music tinkled in the background. Pretension filled the air like a choking fog, slowly filling Blake’s lungs until his chest went tight. All of the dinner guests in attendance stood around in gowns and designer suits that could feed a family of five for a month, if not more. The men’s cufflinks glinted under the chandelier as they raised their pre-dinner drinks to their lips, sipping on liquors and wine imported from faraway lands.
It was like a movie set, with everyone auditioning for a role. Blake’s would most definitely be the out-of-towner or the sore thumb.
He leaned into Jen’s ear, taking some comfort in the familiar scent of her perfume, and whispered, “Are you sure we can’t head out before dinner? We could get last minute tickets to a show, whatever you want.”
Jen smiled and spoke through the side of her mouth. “You know my father will have both of our heads if we leave.”
Blake sighed inwardly and shoved his hands in his pockets. It was worth a shot. There had been a subtle ripple of tension between them since the whole “underprivileged event” at the hotel, whether on his part or hers, he wasn’t entirely sure. Whatever the cause, it seemed to have dissipated over the course of the week, which made the timing of this impromptu dinner party all the more inconvenient. The last thing he wanted was to schmooze her parents. For starters, it never worked. Mr. Garwood wasn’t exactly the schmoozing type, and all Blake really wanted was to spend some time with Jen where he wasn’t on eggshells.
Though they’d only been dating a year, he had a feeling he’d never gain her parent’s approval. Her father, especially, always had this way of looking at him through narrowed eyes like he was staring at a foreign object under a Petri dish. These dinners they hosted only amplified Blake’s feeling of inadequacy. He’d do almost anything to get out of them, including peel out of his own skin just for an excuse to take a trip to the ER, but Jen wanted him there, and if he was to become her fiancé, her family was a part of the package.
Clusters of pale pink and white roses decorated nearly every available surface. Soft light dripped from the crystal chandeliers above. Starched, white linens covered the expansive twenty-two-foot table made of solid wood, along with gold candelabras and delicate china. Blake knew from experience, an entire crew had been ensembled in the Garwood’s kitchen—caterers, bartenders, and waitstaff. They spared no expense when hosting a dinner.
Everything reeked of old money and class—two things Blake felt he’d never have enough of for Jen. He could spend half his life with her and still feel as though he’d never fit in with her family. On nights like these, he hated having to put on an act, to smile, play nice, and pretend he was interested in the banal conversations around him when all he wanted to do was fall asleep in his soup.
But he did his best to put on a brave face, grin and bear it so to speak. The way he felt wasn’t Jen’s fault. She grew up in this posh environment, so she was used to parties like this. His feelings were his own and not her fault. Still, he hated being dragged to these things. Yet if he wanted to be with Jen, he would spend his life attending dinner such as this, along with galas and formal events, shaking hands and sharing drinks with some of the wealthiest families in the city.
He could practically hear Grant’s voice in his head, telling him how he and Jen were from two different worlds, how they’d never work, how they wanted different things, were different people, and Blake was merely trying to compensate for something. Worse yet, a part of Blake feared he was right.
After dinner was announced, everyone headed into the dining room. That’s where the real fun began because dinner conversation always veered into treacherous territory—politics, religion, wealth, you name it, and it was on the table.
Blake placed his hand on the small of Jen’s back, guiding her into the expansive room. Crystal dripped from a hand-painted mosaic on the cathedral ceiling high above them. Pudgy cherubs swirled and danced among the clouds in a pale blue sky. The huge polished table was overflowing with bouquets of white and pale pink roses. The Garwood’s bone-white china was laid out for their guests, with their golden-plated silverware, and French linen napkins.
Blake took a seat next to his place card, which was embossed with what he knew without asking were real gold flakes (because the Garwoods never did anything halfway).
