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We apologize for the inconvenience, but the daycare will be closed effective immediately. We will be closed for five to seven days due to the flu outbreak and staff shortages. You’ll be contacted via email regarding the reopening date.
No. No. No.
The reason everyone is gathered here now becomes clear. None of us are sure what to do in this situation. We bring our children to daycare because we have no other choice. We don’t have a grandparent or parent around to babysit. I join a group of acquaintances, and yet we struggle to come up with a solution. One suggestion is to take turns watching the kids in small groups at the student center. However, all of us have class at nine, which is why we drop off our children around eight.
Before going to class, I usually grab a coffee and a pastry.
Since my dad is leaving town, I call my neighbor. Unfortunately, her little boy has strep throat. Next, I contact Lettie. When she answers, she sounds like horse shit. I don’t know what it means, but Lettie says it all the time. I guess it’s a Southern thing. She either has the grandaddy of all hangovers, or she’s sick too.
“Sorry, this flu has kicked my ass,” she says as she coughs and sneezes at the same time.
This is when I wish I had more friends. I regret isolating myself from potential friendships just because I have a child and was concerned about what others might think.
“Why don’t you call your bad boy? Maybe he can take Caleb to breakfast at the student center while you’re in class.”
“Yeah, right. I’ll run some chicken soup over to you later.”
“No, I don’t want you getting sick. Then Caleb won’t have anyone to take care of him.”
“Feel better. Let me know if you change your mind.”
I’d rather have one Lettie than twenty people who don’t truly know me. She stated what I’ve been feeling lately—what would happen to Caleb if I got sick or injured? Who would be able to pick up the reins and take care of him? Dad? He’d love to, but there would be no way with his schedule.
I may need to work more hours or hire a part-time nanny. Based on my pay rate, a babysitter will have to do.
Kissing Caleb’s cheek, I say, “I guess we’ll go back home.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
REED
The Sugar Shack. I never imagined shopping for a girl in the upscale businesses along this street, but my need for Brooke to know I’m more than a hockey player, more than a broody asshole, is taking control.
The moment I step inside, a world of Southern delicacies unfolds before me. From the irresistible allure of bourbon maple bacon to the succulent indulgence of chocolate-covered grapes, every corner of the Sugar Shack is filled with delightful surprises. S’mores, lovingly dipped in velvety white chocolate, stand in tempting rows, while towering gummy bears adorn the shelves, demanding attention. Of course, traditional pies, cakes, and cookies line the glass cases, but it’s the bakery's commitment to the unconventional that truly sets it apart.
I’ve bought Harper a peanut butter cinnamon roll. The rest of my roommates have sworn off sweets for the next month.
After I pick out the cake pop flavors for Brooke, the salesperson arranges sprigs of holly, making it look like a real flower arrangement.
Knowing Brooke would be in class, I drive straight to her apartment. With everything in place, I carefully position the vase of delectable cake pops right in front of her apartment door and wish I could see Brooke’s face when she sees them. I’ve never sent a girl flowers or bought a corsage. The last dance I attended was my sophomore year at Bannington Prep where I flew solo.
All of those teenage firsts were taken from me.
As I turn, Brooke is fumbling with her keys while holding her little boy’s hand. Fuck, she didn’t want me to meet him yet. What is she doing home? I dart my eyes around, thinking about hiding.
She walks two more steps until there’s nowhere for me to go. Brooke’s eyes rake up my body until they land on mine with horror in her eyes. She doesn’t even say hi. I pick up the vase.
“Delivery for Brooke Dulce,” I say, attempting to play it off like I haven’t fucked her ten times in all sorts of ways.
Her lids fall, and her shoulders are up in her ears. “Thank you.” She nudges me out of the way and unlocks her door. “Caleb, go on inside. Mommy will be there in a minute. I need to pay the delivery man.”
Did she just push a shiv through my heart? It’s insulting, being reduced to a delivery man. Not that it isn’t a good gig. I hear the guys in the brown trucks make bank.
I take my eyes off her for a moment to look at her son. He has her big, round eyes, and his big smile slams into my heart. His rosy, red lips showcase his mouthful of tiny white chiclets.
When he disappears, she asks, “Missing me already?”
Do I kiss her or keep my distance? What is the protocol for someone with a child? We were going to wait weeks until I met him, but now, I’ve thrown a wrench into our plans. Our goal was to make sure we were compatible, and the newness didn’t wear off quickly. She assumes that it will for me, knowing there have been a plethora of women before her. But none have been her.
