Thursday Nights (The Charistown Series) (39 page)

“I stink.”

“You stink.”
Damn it.

I attempt to use the only weapon I have at the moment. Silence.

I quickly scoop her up by her waist, wrapping her underneath my arm, and make a mad dash to the kitchen. She giggles hysterically. I could tell her I’m not trying to be funny, but I really hate the copying game, so I don’t.

I manage to scoop up the three backpacks and my laptop case from the kitchen table with my other arm,
because I’m
super mom,
and make my way to meet Nycole and Kyndall at the door. I set Rylie down gently. They all laugh with each other and I take a brief moment to look at my girls.

My girls; the loves of my life. Now the
only
loves of my life and I’m content with that. This is my life and I accept it 100%. Sure, I would have chosen differently if I’d been given the chance, but it’s my responsibility to teach these girls to make the most of what life has handed them. If I had just given up the day our Derek had been taken from this earth…where would we be now? No, I have to be strong for all of us.

Sure, some days are harder than others. I have breakdowns every now and then, but I think that’s normal. And I try to shield the girls as much as I can from moments when mommy’s feeling a bit “down”. But these girls...they mean more to me than my own life. I’ll do everything in my power to keep them from being hurt ever again.
That
is what defines me. I already had my happiness and I live for them now. I’m okay with that.

Getting back to my already hectic morning, I take in a calming breath through my nose before opening the door. I hand the girls their lunches and back packs before herding them out of the house. While walking to the car in a single file line, Rylie (who’s unfortunately walking in front of me) insists on stopping randomly every few seconds.

Bug on the ground. “Mommy, look!” She stops. I trip.

New flower identified in the yard. “Oh, smell this Mommy.” She stops. I trip.

Half-eaten tootsie roll in the driveway. “We don’t eat candy on the ground, right Mommy?” She stops. I trip.

Chewed up gum that Nycole spit out yesterday.
Didn’t I ask her to pick that up and put it in the trash?
“Um…Nycole didn’t listen to you! I listen to you, Mommy.” Rylie stops. I stop. And glare at Nycole.

I patiently stare; so intently, that I can actually see the synapse fire in her brain. Nycole walks over, picks up the gum, holds it as far away from her body as she can, and throws it in the outside trash can.

“Thanks, Nyc.” I try to keep a straight face as she wipes her hands on her shirt. I mean, the gum did come out of her mouth; I’m not sure what the big deal is. I watch as she grabs the hand sanitizer out of her back pack and that does me in. I can’t contain my snickering any longer.

“Seriously, Nyc. Is it that big of a deal? It’s just a piece of gum…that came out of
your
mouth.”

“Mom, I can’t believe you made me do that. It’s been sitting in this nasty driveway since yesterday. That’s just gross.”

“Well…you could have thrown it away yesterday, like I asked you to do. Maybe next time, you won’t ignore me when I ask you to do something. ” I throw open the back of my Suburban and hurl my laptop case in, closing it just as quickly as it was opened. “Let’s not do the drama queen thing this morning. I’d love to have just one morning where we all get al–”

“Kyndall! I called seat check!” Nycole yells while Kyndall snatches the seatbelt and quickly buckles herself in, excited grin on her face the entire time. Just
one
morning is all I ask. Just one morning where we can make it to the car with no major catastrophes or ridiculous arguments.

“Nyc…just take another seat,
please
. We don’t have time for this.” I step up onto the side rail and reach over Rylie to buckle her in. Right after I hear the click of the seatbelt, I find myself grabbing at the arm of Rylie’s booster seat for my life while my feet slip out from underneath me. I wince in pain as both of my shins scrape against the rail, from my ankles to my knees, until my feet finally reach the ground.

“Shit! Shit, shit, shit!” I yell, jumping around from the immense pain radiating from my lower legs. I can feel them pulsating and the pain makes my eyes water.

“Mom!”

“Mama, are you okay?”

“Um…Mommy said shit! Shit, shit, shit!”

I immediately stop jumping and turn to look at the girls. All of them have their mouths wide open, watching my very mature reaction to what just happened. Great. I’m sure Rylie’s school will be calling me later today with the wonderful news that she has taught all of her classmates to say shit. Just. Freakin’. Wonderful.

“Rylie – we don’t say shit. Don’t. Say. Shit. Do you understand me?” Rylie nods her head, but smiles as though she has no intention of listening to me. I point my finger at her. “Don’t say it, Rylie. I’m serious!” I watch her big brown eyes glance over at her sisters, mischievous grin still intact.

I look over and see Nycole and Kyndall covering their mouths and giggling as they watch our interaction. They’re definitely not helping this situation any. And, although I really want to laugh with them, I can’t. I know it will only encourage her, so I force the giggle back down my throat and address the other two. I can feel my mouth start to turn upwards, but I try to keep my face straight. I’m pretty sure it’s not working, judging by Rylie’s smile. I turn my eyes to the other girls in a last ditch effort to remedy the situation.

“Sorry guys. I should’ve handled that better. Can we just forget that any of this happened?” I look at them with pleading eyes. I watch a sly smile slowly spread across Nycole’s face.

“I don’t know, Mom. I think you should have to buy us something. You know, to keep us quiet.” She throws in an exaggerated wink to make sure I get her point.

“Nyc, have you lost your ever livin’ mind? You know I don’t do things like that!” I look at all of them with my serious mom face and then I can’t help but let out a chuckle, pain long forgotten. I roll my eyes in defeat. “Oh, alright…One thing at the gas station and that’s it! Got it?”

They all squeal at once. “Yay! Love you, Mommy!”

I sigh. “I love you too, girls. More than you know.”

Sitting behind the steering wheel, I let out a long, deep breath.
Gas or no gas…that is the question.
I was just at the freakin’ gas station! I can’t believe I didn’t notice this sooner. Actually, now that I think about it, the low fuel level warning
has
been chirping at me for a couple of days now.

Looking at the needle, I contemplate whether or not I can make the twelve mile drive from Rylie’s daycare to my office without stopping for gas. 7:58 AM. It’s not like I’m actually worried that Harlow will be pissed that I’m late…again. It just makes it easier to rationalize my decision to not get gas. I’m pretty sure there’s a reserve gas tank built into these things, right? For procrastinators like me? Unless I’m already dipping into the reserve tank, which would prove to be rather unfortunate.

Shifting into drive, I inhale deeply and turn right to jump onto the interstate. I lose myself in my thoughts, thinking about this morning and how the chaos continued full force. After the gas station, where none of my children picked anything remotely healthy as their replacement breakfast, Nycole and Kyndall found themselves in a very heated discussion about whether or not one of Nycole’s friends actually had Justin Bieber’s phone number. A discussion that ended with high pitched screaming that I swear could have broken the sound barrier, and quite possibly my windows, but I had to side with Kyndall on this one.

Finally ridding my car of the feminine theatrics, I drove Rylie to her daycare. A bad habit I’ve developed is brushing her teeth while in the car at the parking lot of her school. A bad habit she’s developed is literally aiming her sneezes at people. Both habits rolled into one? Well, that equaled another ill-fated incident involving toothpaste. Rylie laughed heartily at my expense after she aimed her toothpaste filled sneeze spray at my black shirt. I think my girls have decided to gang up on me using toothpaste as their ‘modus operandi’. Seriously. With a toothpaste-splattered poplin top, I carried my four year old baby girl (who was still laughing by the way) into her classroom, quickly kissed her goodbye, and jetted out of there before she could use me as her latest show and tell demonstration.

I noticed the familiar warning regarding my gas level when I got back into my car. I guess I didn’t hear it earlier this morning over my lovely children yelling and screaming at each other. Days like this, I really miss Derek. He always made sure I had enough gas to make the morning rounds. He absolutely hated when I had to get gas by myself and made every effort to make sure I never had to. After three years, you’d think I would have managed to not depend on my husband to still do certain things for me. Yet, three years later, here I am, once again on empty.

And now I find myself driving down I-35, becoming increasingly nervous that I made the
wrong
decision. I push my foot down on the gas pedal to pass some poor old couple that evidently started driving when the Model T came out, when…nothing. My car starts slowing and as I push down on the pedal, I realize that I have indeed made the wrong decision. My car has stalled. I pull over to the side of the interstate and throw my car into park.

“Seriously? Can
anything
go right today? Harlow’s going to freakin’ kill me!” Ten minutes late is still within Harlow’s “not going to kick ass” window, but I have a sneaking suspicion that this is going to throw me into some unknown realm of Harlow fury.

I pull out my cell phone and punch in the number to our office.

“Prestige Staffing, Harlow Reed speaking.” She sounds flustered already, so I’m definitely not looking forward to this conversation.

“Um, Harlow…it’s Alex.”

“What’s up love? Are you on your way? We have that interview with the potential candidate for Synergy Accounting in, like, twenty minutes. So please, tell me you’re on your way.”

Not really sure how to break this to her, I opt to remain quiet while she figures it out herself.

Three…two…one…

“Tell me you’re on your way, Alex! I can’t do this one on my own. We both need to be here to make the decision. This one’s too big for only my opinion. It’s a freaking senior executive potential hire, Alex!”

Okay, Harlow’s usually a little high strung, but this is a little out of the norm…even for her.
Odd.
Maybe the pressure has finally gotten to her.

You see, Harlow and I started our own staffing firm right out of college – Prestige Staffing. We started our own business so that we could smoke in our office all day long, consume adult beverages during work hours, and do nothing but giggle and gossip all day. However, we both eventually quit smoking, quickly figured out that we were no good at
anything
while drinking and, since we couldn’t get any business while intoxicated, we had absolutely nothing to giggle or gossip about. So, we decided to start taking our business seriously.

Currently, we’re responsible for recruiting and interviewing potential hiring candidates for almost every company in Waco. Together, we can usually tell whether or not the person will be a good fit for the position before recommending them to the company for their own interviews. We have a proven track record, with over 95% of our referrals being placed with the companies. The commission on this potential candidate is HUGE. Yeah, Harlow’s definitely pissed.

“Listen, I know you’re upset–”

“
Upset?
Are you fucking kidding me? I. Am. Pissed!” Yes, just as I’d figured.

“Listen, I ran out of gas on I-35. See if you can stall him for half an hour. I’ll flag down an 18-wheeler if I have to. I
will
be there. I’ve never let you down and I’m not going to start now. Just hold him there as long as you can, okay?”

“Okay, Alex. But hurry the hell up! I have no idea what to stall him with. We only have enough coffee for one pot and no breakfast because
you
were supposed to pick that stuff up this morning, remember? I can’t stall him forever with my witty banter and mile long legs; there’s only so long that the poor man can ogle me. Your ass better be here in thirty minutes. Get. Here. ASAP.” I’m pretty sure I hear about three more F-bombs before catching dead air.