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She has the right to be annoyed. I don't.
“We don’t have time to eat breakfast at home, so I made the cereal in a bottle,” Rebecca instructs me. “Skylar would take it in the car. Get her."
I obey wordlessly, scooping Skylar and following her out of the house.
"Why do you wear these clip-clop shoes, Mommy?" Skylar complains as the heels grate against the marble.
They wouldn’t sound so bad if Rebecca just wore them properly instead of semi-dragging them across the floor.
“Why do you wear your sneakers?” Rebecca fires back, panting as she hurries to the parking lot.
“Because they’re comfy and don’t make any sound,” the little girl grumbles.
She has a point.
“No, it’s because they’re what is appropriate for school. These are appropriate for my work,” she corrects her daughter.
I'm tempted to say, “Not necessarily,” but I hold my tongue. Matters of fashion do not concern me.
When we get to the garage, I put Skylar down, and she stands, albeit reluctantly, already missing my hands’ carry. Her mom has very little time and energy to make her feel like the four-year-old she is, so I'm the next best option.
“We’ll take the Cadillac. Take Burton's way. I'm in a hurry." Rebecca enters the car first, and I hoist Skylar into the car seat after her, but in a way where she feels like she climbed herself.
However, Rebecca's instructions about the drive made me stand still.
“I’m afraid I can't do that, ma'am," I grunt.
She rolls her beautiful blue eyes. “It’s the fastest route, Jordan. I’m in a hurry.” She tries to explain her superior reasoning, but most of it doesn’t matter.
I would not be doing my job if I didn't do everything within my power and knowledge to keep them safe.
“There was a shooting there some hours ago. Hoodlums versus police. It’s not hot, but I don’t want to risk it. And Th?”
She interrupts me.
“?Thomas just rented an apartment in that neighborhood. I know.” Her voice is a little cracked, probably because she’s still not recovered from whatever short sleep she’s had. “Take it.”
“I’m afraid I can’t do that, ma’am,” I maintain.
She stares at me for a couple of seconds. If eyes fired daggers, blue-pointed blades would've been heading toward me at the speed of a bullet.
“What do you mean by that? I’m giving you a direct order.” She begins to get impatient. “It’s my safety, isn’t it?”
“And that of the child," I tell her. "…Especially that of the child."
I want her to understand that she could jump off a cliff for all I cared. Skylar was, is, and will remain my principal in this job. Her safety is what is important to me.
“The child is mine, Jordan, and I'm your boss!" She's yelling now. Skylar flinches a little, and of all that's happening, that concerns me. “Get in the car and fucking drive!”
“Mom!” Skylar springs to my defense.
"I'm sorry you had to hear that, honey." Rebecca kept her face on my heated one, even though she was talking to her daughter.
I'm burning because this is all unnecessary. We've been taking an alternate route for weeks, heading to drop her off at work before Skylar. But now, she wants me to compromise her daughter's safety to save herself a few minutes.
And she wonders why we don’t get along.
Despite my internal conflict, my face remains coated with bland stoicism. I shrugged and gave a simple “Yes, ma’am” before heading to the driver’s seat.
