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Another mom swings the door open while her three-year-old throws a fit. After she’s gone, I grab a pen and sign Caleb out. There’s a new receptionist, and she calls back for him. Caleb runs to me. “Mommy. Mommy.” I crouch down and kiss him.
“Did you have fun today?”
“Me and Kimmie played in the balls.”
I can’t even think of the cesspool of germs in the ball pit. But I try not to be overly cautious. When I grew up, we played badminton in the street and kickball until midnight with the neighborhood kids. "I'm glad you had fun.”
Kimmie’s mom corners me before I can get away “Brooke. Brooke. Hey, do you have a minute?”
“Not really. I have to get Caleb dinner and study for a test.” I tilt my head in apology.
“Well then, you’re going to dinner with us.”
“Annie, I can’t.”
“Nonsense. You have to eat, and we have food and wine.”
As we’re walking out the door, I realize the receptionist didn’t scan Caleb’s bracelet to match him with his approved list of contacts for pickup.
Caleb holds my hand as we follow Annie. She’s married and the same age as me. The difference? Annie married her high school sweetheart, and they’re adorable—still madly in love. They live in a little brownstone on the east side of campus, which is a few blocks from the student center.
When we arrive at her house, we take off our coats and leave our shoes by the side door. Kimmie runs into the kitchen, grabbing two juice pouches from the fridge. Annie gathers the ingredients we need to make homemade pizzas.
I sigh as we spread the dough onto her butcher block island and have the kids standing on a chair in front of us. We hold onto the kids with one hand, while we give them each a spoon. “Spread the sauce in a thin layer. Caleb, is this thin or thick?” I gesture with my thumb and pointer finger.
“Thin.”
“Yay, good boy. Just a thin layer of sauce.”
Annie smiles. “You’re a natural mom and teacher. Speaking of teaching.”
“I’m not a teacher. I’m a theatre major.”
“Just hear me out. The daycare supervisor approached me, inquiring if I knew anyone with ballet experience. Considering your background as a junior ice skating champion, I immediately thought of you, assuming that you must be familiar enough with the fundamentals to instruct four to eight-year-olds.”
“How did you know about my figure skating?”
“I did a little digging.” She puts her manicured fingers over mine as I lift my brows. “It’s just I’ve known you for six months and barely know you. Google knows everything.”
My eyes pop out of my head. It’s almost like she’s talking to someone else in another room, and I’m eavesdropping on the conversation. “I can’t teach ballet. My plate is too full.”
“It’s a paying job. They would pay you ten dollars a child for an hour twice a week.”
Kimmie grabs a fistful of cheese and throws it, missing the majority of her pizza. Caleb picks up the shredded mozzarella, placing it on the pie, one freaking shred at a time. He’s a perfectionist. Everything has to be in order. He likes both sides to be equal, not realizing it all melts together.
Annie pours us both a glass of wine, assuring me her husband will take Caleb and me home in a half hour. It feels good to relax and hang out. I’ve been wound tighter than an antique clock. Now that I’ve been given the release of a lifetime, I get stressed over when and if I will have an opportunity with Reed again.
There’s a cozy sitting area where a breakfast nook would normally be. They converted their formal dining room into an extension of the kitchen by knocking out part of a wall and adding an archway.
While the pizzas are in the oven, and the kids are playing on the floor with some pots and pans, I tuck my feet under my bottom and sip the Malbec wine. It’s smooth and pricier than anything I’ve ever had.
“Promise me you’ll think about it.”
I nod. “I will.”
How many kids will sign up? If there are ten kids twice a week that would be an extra two hundred per week. Holy cow, that’s eight hundred bucks a month. Yeah, I’ll think about it. But when do I have time?
“So how do you do it, Annie?”
