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“I unplugged it. See?”
He huffs, unsatisfied. His dark blue eyes are judging me.
No time for that now. “Backpack?”
“Check!”
“Lunchbox?”
“Mom, it’s abentobox.”
I snort a laugh and ruffle Owen’s black hair. “You think you’re so clever, don’t you?” He grins in a way that makes me melt, but we have no time for that. We’re already late for school. “Let’s go!”
He takes my hand, and we race out the door. But when we get outside, he says, “You forgot something.”
“What, baby?” I lock the door.
“Shoes.”
Checking him, I’m confused. “You have your shoes on.”
He giggles. “Your feet.”
“Crap.” I throw the lock, step into my loafers, and join him back out there. “Okay. I think we’re ready now.”
“Maybe.”
We hurry down the sidewalk toward Billingsley. It’s the best school for a few cities around, and the only reason I can afford to send him there is my teacher discount. It makes his tuition almost free, but it also means I cannot afford to screw anything up and lose my job. I’ll be walking on eggshells for the next twelve years to keep him there through high school, but he’s worth it. Owen is everything to me.
Being that Billingsley Academy is the best school around, my students are the children of the wealthiest people in Somerset Harbor and the neighboring towns. All the teachers are under the microscope subsequently, and the wrong thing said to the wrong person can mean the difference between continued employment or being out on the street.
Not that the kids are that bad. Mostly, it’s the parents.
Once people reach a certain echelon in society, they want things a particular way, especially when it comes to their children. Not that I blame them on that score. I’d be picky as heck for Owen if I had more choices. If he wanted to do more—the thought stops me in my tracks. “Did you bring your running shoes for running club after school?”
“Oh no,” he says, panicking.
Of all the days.
I hoist him onto my back and together, we run back home. The whole time, he apologizes, and each one guts me because I can hear the tears in his voice. The poor kid has his mother’s overdeveloped sense of responsibility. I’ve tried to break him of it, but so far, it’s etched into him. “Baby, it’s fine,” I pant as I open the door. He climbs off me and dashes into his room for his special running shoes.
When he returns, tear tracks run down his little face, and I want to fight whatever made him cry. Frustration beats into me that I can’t fight it for him—he merely forgot something. There’s no bully to defeat, no monster under his bed. No one ever told me the worst days of parenthood come at your child’s own innocent errors.
Instead of rushing us back down the sidewalk, I kneel in front of him. “Owen, it was a mistake. It’s okay.”
He sniffles. “You’re not mad?”
I have never been mad at this kid a day in his life, but it always seems to be on his mind for some reason I have never understood. “No, baby. I’m not mad. I love you.”
“I love you, too.” He chokes back a sob.
I give him a hug, and we start our day again. By the time we reach the old brick building, he’s in a far better mood, and I’m relieved, but the sight of his tears always rips me apart inside. I muddle through the morning in a little haze, still worried about my kiddo enough that I forget what lesson I’m teaching for a few minutes. Thankfully, though, I’ve been at this long enough to gloss over things without the kids noticing.
Unlike a lot of women in my situation, I was lucky. When I found out I was pregnant and made the choice to keep it, I had just signed on to go from a student teacher to a full-time teacher. Despite Billingsley’s reputation, no one batted an eye when I let my pregnancy be known. I had the full support of the staff, and I consider it a minor miracle that no parent has ever said anything about my single mother status, aside from the occasional single dad trying to hit on me.
But I have no interest in any of them. Sure, I’ve been on a few dates just to keep in practice, but I haven’t feltthe thingwith any of them. No spark, no passion. Just one guy after another, dull and uninteresting. Tee times and yachts put me to sleep, and there’s no sense in risking what I have now to find out if there’s anything deeper than their wealthy guy bravado. Right now, the only guy in my life who matters is Owen, and I am fine with that.
When lunch time hits, I am excited. It’s been a while since I saw Lily—since before her honeymoon, actually. So, I was excited to catch up with her when she called. She picks me up and we end up at Bean-Go, our favorite coffee shop downtown. We sit down to salads and cold brews, and I can’t stop grinning at her. “You’re glowing.”
