Alessandra
Erica’s tiny arms are wrapped tightly around my hips in a way that is both endearing and cutting off my circulation. I finally broke it to my favorite little brats about a week ago that I won’t be around to clean up their spilled juice boxes much longer, and the imminent threat of me leaving has Erica acting uncharacteristically affectionate. Ben, who is currently resting on his mom’s hip as she scribbles out my check, is too young to be fazed. I’m sort of jealous of him that he doesn’t have to deal with good-byes.
“No, you’re stuck with me for a few more days,” I say, shaking the grip of Erica’s Play-Doh-covered hands. Maybe I should have broken the news sooner and enjoyed a few more weeks of this. It sure beats the usual symphony of screams and constant sass over the injusti
