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“I don’t feel good, Mommy.”
Uh-oh. He hasn’t called me mommy since he was a toddler. He must be feeling really ill. My son curls himself around my hip, putting a hand across my thigh.
I stroke his hair for a few moments, then grab a bucket to set it near the bed. Then, my morning is swallowed up by sick kids and lots of vomit. My mother wakes to the sound of Toby retching into his bucket. She gives me a horrified look and gets to work helping me.
All those times I complained—either out loud or in my head—about being a grown woman living with her mother? Yeah, just…forget about those. Lottie is a superhero right now.
It’s not until the sun is well and truly up, the kids have had a bit of juice for hydration, and I feel worse than I did when I awoke that I’m finally able to sit down at the kitchen table. Mom puts a cup of coffee in front of me and feeds the cat while I sit, listening to birds titter as a beautiful day unfolds just out the window.
“You think they caught a bug at day camp?” I ask as my mother joins me with a coffee cup of her own.
“Who knows?” She leans back and lets out a long sigh. Then she blinks and glances at me. “How was your girls’ night?”
I let out a huff. Girls’ night feels like eons ago. Did I really half-drunkenly kiss Mac? Calling it a kiss doesn’t exactly feel accurate. It felt like sex. I shake my head. “It was fine. I’m not twenty anymore. I can’t drink like that. I had five drinks and I feel like garbage.”
My mother chuckles. She tilts her head. “Was Mr. Pottery there?”
Don’t blush. Don’t blush. Don’t blush.
“Yeah.” My cheeks heat. Damn it.
She holds my gaze. “And…?”
“And what?” I play dumb, knowing it won’t get me anywhere with her.
I’m saved by a knock on the door, and that’s when I realize I’m still not wearing any panties. My T-shirt hits high on my thighs, so I sprint—well, hobble—upstairs to grab a pair of old pajama shorts.
Candice is in the entryway when I come back downstairs, frowning at me. “You’re not dressed.”
“The kids are sick.”
Her reply is automatic. “Oh, no! Can I do anything?”
Have I mentioned I love my sister? Why the heck didn’t I move here ages ago? I haven’t had this much help with the kids, ever.
I shake my head.
“I was coming to get you to go glaze our pottery, but I’m guessing you want to stay here.”
“Yeah.” Does it make me a terrible mother that I’m partly glad my kids are sick? Not glad they’re sick, but glad I have a decent excuse. The thought of seeing Mac when I look and feel the way I do…
“I’ll tell Mac you say hi.”
“That’s not necessary—”
“You do that, honey,” my mother interjects. “Tell him to stop by here sometime during the week too. I’d like to see him again.”
“Mom, no,” I practically shout, then frown. “Wait. ‘Again?’ What do you mean by ‘again?’”
Lottie, in classic Lottie style, totally ignores me. Why is it that I feel like a kid any time she’s around? I’m a grown woman! I’m forty-two!
“This Mac boy might be just what she needs. Don’t you think, Candice?” She shuffles back to the kitchen for more coffee while I swing my gaze to meet Candice’s laughing one.
My sister shakes her head. “Now you know what I went through for the past three months. She was insufferable when Blake and I first started seeing each other.”
“Careful!” Mom calls from the kitchen.
Grinning at Candice, I say goodbye, then go check on my kids again.
