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After Nadia rushes off to catch the bus, I sit down with Owen and Sophie. “What do you two think about taking the day off from preschool?”
What kid doesn’t want a day off from school?
Sophie’s eyes widen, and her mouth falls open.
Owen looks at me like I just broke his favorite toy. “Why?”
“I want to go.” Sophie frowns.
“But what do you think of taking the day off? You wouldn’t have to do any lessons. Think of it!” I give them my widest smile.
Sophie’s eyes fill with tears. “I want to work on my art project.”
Owen’s face scrunches up. “And Eli is coming back today. He’s going to tell me all about his trip.”
“We could go somewhere fun.”
“No!” Owen glares at me.
Tears run down Sophie’s face and she sniffles.
I can’t do this. I’m going to need Peter’s help figuring out how to break the news to them about finding a new school. They’re going to have to go back for now. I’ve never seen two kids more upset over the idea ofnotgoing to class.
“You don’t have to cry.” I reach across the table and squeeze Sophie’s little hand. “I was just asking what you two thought. Obviously you want to go, so that’s what we’ll do. We can plan a fun day off later. How does that sound?”
They both agree.
I help Sophie blow her nose then get the kids ready for school. My stomach churns acid the whole way there, and by the time I park the car, I’m sure I’m going to vomit all over the place. Somehow I manage to keep my breakfast down and give my kids a cheerful goodbye.
Emily looks at me expectantly from behind the reception desk. She clearly wants me to leave. Probably thinks I’m going to make a scene.
The last thing I want to do is become a spectacle again. But I’m not ready to leave yet, either. Instead, I lean on the counter. “I have an unusual request.”
She groans. “What?”
“In addition to the normal check-out procedures, I want you to add a password to my children’s files. Nobody can take them unless they tell you the secret word. Not even Peter or me.”
“Is that all?”
“Yes. Can you do that?”
“That’s no problem.” Emily turns to her computer monitor and clicks on her keyboard. “What would you like the password to be?”
I thought about it all the way here, but I’m still not entirely sure.
The receptionist looks at me with raised eyebrows.
“Mommy Dearest,” I blurt out.
“You want the password to be Mommy Dearest?”
“Yes. And I might decide to change it every day. Will that be a problem?”
“No.” She clacks away on the keys, not looking at me.
“Great. And remember, don’t even let me pick them up if I can’t tell you the password.”
She glances at me. “In that case, I suggest you write it down.”
