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I text Iz and thank her for the hot tip on walking Rainey to school instead of driving. Seconds after pressing send, she replies.
Iz: I’m always right. :) You should know that by now. What was I right about this time?
Noah: About walking Rainey to school. Parking was ridiculous.
Iz: Always is. I ended up driving, but parked a few blocks away.
Noah: Were the boys excited?
I looked for Izabeth and her cousins this morning, but never spotted them.
Iz: Does a hog roll in shit?
A roar of laughter escapes my mouth at her reply. I’m typing when a notification pops up on my screen. It’s a message from an unknown number, so I swipe it away without reading. A second notification from the same unknown number pops up and curiosity gets the better of me.
Logan: Where’d you go? Thought I was your ride home?
Logan. I’d called myself with his phone, but hadn’t saved his number yet. Our conversation at the cafe was too easy, and that scares me. Being moved around as a kid isn’t a topic I share with others—I’ve spent my adulthood working to heal those wounds. And yet, I’d freely shared that part of my story with him without a second thought. In my rush to return to an emotionally safe space, I forgot I agreed he could drive me home.
Noah: I totally forgot!
A speech bubble with triple dots appears as Logan types his reply.
Logan: I was just concerned. It’s boiling today, and I didn’t know how far you live from the cafe. Sorry to bother you, but I’m glad you’re okay.
I’m such a jerk, rushing out on what was otherwise a pleasant conversation.
Noah: Sorry to worry you! I made it home. I don’t live far.
Logan: Glad you didn’t melt.
With nothing else to add, I exit the text conversation and return to the one with Iz.
Noah: Come hang out with me. I’m all aloooone.
Iz: *eye-roll emoji* I’m working. You’ve complained for two weeks about not having time to yourself. Go do something. Or just bask in the few hours you have until Rainey’s home. Take a nap.
Noah: Fine.
Four loads of laundry, two dishwasher cycles, and three scrubbed toilets later, I’m sweaty again. I flop on my made bed and watch a string of several YouTube pimple-popping videos. They’re gross, but satisfying.
Twenty minutes of my life disappear before alarms go off throughout the house. I set three alarms to make sure I didn’t forget to pick Rainey up at school. Excessive? Probably. But after this morning’s alarm snafu, I’m not taking any chances. I can’t be the one adult who forgets to pick up their kid. Not on the first day of school.
At pick up, Rainey’s teacher greets me before pulling me aside and letting me know about a ‘situation.’ The day started strong, and Rainey did a wonderful job interacting with her classmates and playing. After lunch, her teacher instructed the class to circle up on the floor. The kids tossed a ball back and forth, answering questions about themselves—the teacher’s attempt to gamify getting to know her students.
Rainey froze at the ‘Where do your parents work?’ question. Her teacher apologizes over and over to me, explaining she thought Rainey may not remember her parents’ job names. Her teacher suggested possible answers, and Rainey broke down and threw an angry, screaming fit in front of her classmates.
I’m stunned. We’ve had a few emotionally charged episodes since Rainey moved in, mostly when she’s upset about missing her dad.
“How long did this go on?”
“A good twenty minutes. The other students returned to their desks to finish a worksheet. I really tried to calm her down. We sat in the reading corner away from the other kids. But she wasn’t having it. The longer she cried, the more upset she became.”
“Why didn’t I get a call about this?” This may be my first experience with having a kid in the school system, but calling me seems like an appropriate step.
“I was about to, but one of her classmates fixed the situation.”
“What does that mean?”
