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Saoirse:Are we all good for the opening tomorrow? Anything you need from me?
Sammy:Yes. I’ll be at the hotel around noon to make sure everything is ready for dinner.
Saoirse:Sounds great! Thank you.
Sammy:Absolutely! I’m looking forward to our first event together! :)
I plop my phone into the massive heap of unfolded clothes on my bed, then let out a heavy sigh. I glare at the clothes, not wanting to fold them, but knowing it’s got to get done. For a moment, I debate shoving them onto the reading chair in the corner and forgetting about them until tomorrow. But tomorrow will turn into the next day, and before I know it, a month later I’m looking for my favorite black dress, only to find it wrinkled at the bottom of the pile.
“Fuck, fine,” I grumble to myself, getting to work quickly. The kids are super quiet tonight, tucked away in their rooms after a hearty dinner of chili and warm homemade bread.
Their bellies are full, and I won’t hear from them until I force Max to take another shower before bed. Em’s probably already showered and on a video call with one of her friends. She’ll stay up into the early morning if I don’t go in and make her turn off the phone.
Halfway through the laundry, a knock sounds against the frame of my open door. I glance up, smiling at Veronica. She isn’t just my assistant at the event coordinating business I own. She’s also a friend and roommate, and she helps me out immensely with the kids. I indicate for her to come in.
She’s young, only six years older than my seventeen-year-old, and beautiful. Her dark hair is curled today, falling over one shoulder, and bright, dark, almost obsidian eyes watch me. She’s got dark red lipstick on, popping against the black mini dress she’s in. She must be getting ready to go out. I glance at the clock. It’s only seven in the evening, and she usually waits until ten or eleven to leave.
I finish the shirt I’m on. “What’s up?”
She smiles brightly, eyeing me with a mischievous look that screams she’s about to drag me out of the house with her. “It’s Friday night. Em is here. Max is showered and playing video games in the living room.” When she reaches the bed, she grabs a towel and folds it.
My brow raises with skepticism. “Max is showered? Like with soap?”
She nods, a smirk plastered on her face. “And his hair is shampooed.Andhis teeth brushed.”
Okay, now I’m just in complete and utter shock. There’s no fucking way my son took a shower without being tossed in the tub. Veronica tried once, when I was working late, to get him bathed. He promptly told her to go fuck herself in a less aggressive, curse-free way that an eight-year-old can. She’s never tried since, and I’ve never expected or asked her to, either.
Veronica senses my lack of faith. “Believe me, Sammy. He is.”
“What did you do?” I ask.
“I simply told him if he showered with soap, I’d give him a hundred bucks for his Fortnite packs.”
My mouth gapes. “Why would you do that?”
“Because you’re stressed out and need a night off. I also gave Em a hundred to watch him for the night. We’re going out.”
My head shakes back and forth so rapidly. I haven’t been out without my kids ever since Ian died. I’m not about to do it now. “No. We’ll come home to a crime scene. Em is not equipped to watch him. That’s why I always make sure you’re home with him if I’m not.”
Veronica rolls her eyes. “It’s for one night. You need to let loose before this event tomorrow.”
“No. I need to make sure I’m well rested in case all hell breaks loose and I have a million things to fix tomorrow. Same with you. This is a huge event. And I’m throwing Saoirse’s bachelorette party in two weeks. Then her wedding. If I fail at this one, she’ll fire me. She’s my biggest client, and I cannot fuck this up.”
Veronica scoffs, waving an indifferent hand. “Everything is ready to go. It’s not a wedding with a huge cake or large flower orders. The only thing that can go wrong is the catering company. And if that happens, it’s on Saoirse since she outsourced it. So, breathe. It’s time to get you out of the house. You can’t spend the rest of your life having no life. It’s good to get out, to move on, Sammy.”
A bark comes from the dog bed in the corner of the room. Bruce, the Doberman, I adopted as a family dog and had trained for protection, is curled up on his pillow. His black coat shines, and the brown around his mouth moves as he barks again. As if he agrees with Veronica. The traitor. I scowl, narrowing my eyes. “Quiet, Batman. Or I’ll stick you outside for the night.”
Veronica gasps, clutching her hand to heart. “How dare you insult my baby! She doesn’t mean it, Brucey baby.”
Bruce lets out a yawn, then rests his head again, unphased by the insult. He’s used to all the nicknames we give him—all ranging from ‘Frito Feet, Batman, Brucey Baby, Bruce Butt, Pumpkin Face, and Pickle man. The last one is because he’s swiped a pickle or two straight from our plates.
“Come on, Sammy. You’re all wound up. You need to get laid.”
I shoot her a dirty look. “Stop.”
She rolls her eyes. Beginning dating again is a sore subject, one I always shut down.
“Fine. Just come and dance with me.”
