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I get out of the pool, standing on the side as water slides down my body dripping to the concrete under my feet. I’m preparing myself to stop the child from diving into the pool and drowning—since obviously it has no parental supervision. Before he gets close to the pool however, Hope comes dashing out, wrapping her arm around his stomach and swooping him up.
“Jack!” she cries, her voice panicked and body visibly shaking. “Mommy told you never to run away like that!”
“If you had been another minute behind him you may have lost your son! Do you not supervise him at all?!?!” I ask, and it’s a dick move to say it to her. I can tell she’s truly upset and honestly I know shit about raising a kid—or chasing after one for that matter. Still, like I said for some reason this woman brings out the worst in me and I say it.
Her gaze cuts across the distance and looks right at me. She’s pale and she still doesn’t have her emotions under control. There are tears running down her face. Guilt immediately eats at me and I start to apologize, but for some reason I can’t force the words out.
Probably because once again her son is calling me daddy! That can’t be a coincidence. This bitch has to be seriously twisted.
“I had him in his play-circle-thingy!” she cries. “It was supposed to be safe! He knocked it over while I was in the restroom!”
Okay. Complete honesty time. I kind of feel like an ass. She’s obviously distraught, and I don’t know anything about being a parent—especially a single parent—but I would imagine it is hard to find time for bathroom breaks. Still, I doubt standard protocol is to leave your wide awake child unsupervised, even if he is in one of those play pens. I mean, I had seen it when I was in there. It’s like an octagon plastic thing that sits flat on the floor. The child sits on the floor too and each wall has something to occupy his time. I thought it was kind of cute in a let’s-send-my-child-to-prison-and-make-it-look-fun kind of way. It looked sturdy, but judging by the way Jack ran out of the motel, it was little challenge for him. If I can see that, surely a mother can?
“Stop looking at me like that,” she snaps, bringing my attention back around to the conversation at hand.
“How am I looking at you?” I ask innocently, but I know.
“Like I’m some horrible mother!”
“I didn’t say that but…”
“You’re such an ass!”
“I’m just saying I don’t think it’s smart to leave a child of your son’s age unattended,” I shrug.
“He wasn’t unattended! He was in his—”
“Child prison. I know.”
“It’s not a prison! It’s a play circle! And he loves it!”
“Keep him in it often?”
“Oh my God! I can’t wait for you to leave!” she huffs, turning back to the hotel.
I was leaving in the morning, but her words irritate me.
“Well, I couldn’t get another reservation until Tuesday, so tough luck lady. I’m here tomorrow night too!”
“What? No. That is not happening. You paid for one week and—”
“I may have paid for one week, but I had it reserved for two and technically my first week isn’t up until Tuesday morning so…” I trail off with an easy shrug.
“They’re coming tomorrow to work on the air conditioning!” she cries.
“So? That’s not my problem,” I tell her, almost enjoying this.
“It will be when you hear all the noise and all those people are around trying to work!”
“Noise and people don’t bother me. I’m used to it with what I do for a living.”
“You mean you work? I figured you were a bum,” she says, shrugging and adding a snide smile.
“Because bums can rent your place for the week and pay cash.”
“You could have been a bank robber, I suppose. Though with your attitude, maybe a male stripper. Those guys always think they’re God’s gift to women.”
“A male stripper? I guess I should thank you. That means you like my body—but then we established that the other night didn’t we? I mean you kept moaning I was—”
“Will you stop!?!? My son is listening!”
My gaze cuts to the child she’s holding. Oddly enough he seems to be watching our exchange silently, but he’s also happy. He’s grinning from ear to ear. I have the strangest urge to join him.
“How many male strippers have you met?” I ask, idly.
“One, but he was cocky just like you.”
“Speaking of cocky—”
“We weren’t. I’m leaving. Stay tomorrow if you want, but it’s not my fault if you’re miserable,” she growls.
“I’ll need my sheets changed again,” I inform her back, and I don’t bother hiding my smile now—since she can’t see it. In response she holds her hand up in the air and flips me off. “Aren’t you worried your son will pick that up?” I ask as innocently as I can manage.
