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1278 Words
“You were fired!” my mom screams through the cell phone. Then she pauses. “Who am I kidding? Of course you were fired.”
“Mother!” I yell in indignation.
“I always knew the criminal lawyer thing wouldn’t work out. You’re too rash, Chrissy; you think with your heart and fists instead of the incredibly brilliant brain I gave you.”
“Excuse you, sweetheart, I’m pretty sure she got her brain from me,” my dad’s booming voice chips in.
“Hey, Daddy,” I greet with a smile. “How’s my baby?”
“Fired,” my mom replies before I can. I roll my eyes.
“Really, you got fired?” my dad asks in surprise, then he clears his throat. “I suppose it was only a matter of time.”
I rub my hands over my face.
“I need help here, guys, not judgment,” I groan.
“We’re not judging you, darling, we understand. So, what’s the plan now?” he questions. “I don’t have one, Daddy. I lost my job thirty minutes ago,” I reply dryly.
“Come on, sweetheart, you should have been planning something. How are you going to afford rent in LA? Or the bills? You can’t do all that without a job, Christine. If it was just you, I’m sure you could have managed, but it’s you and Noah. What do you plan to do?”
With a sigh, I rub my forehead. “I have a migraine.”
I can almost picture my dad shaking his head. He’s a problem-solver, always thinking of the next step. He always has a solution; I’m just waiting for him to tell me what it is.
“Move back home,” he finally says. “Say what?” I ask in surprise.
“You heard me, Christine.”
“I thought you would offer to help me find another job. Use those amazing contacts you have here. Or at least lend me money. I can’t just uproot Noah’s life and move back to Arcola. What would I even do there?”
“You have a problem; I suggested a solution. I think moving home would be beneficial. You’d be closer to us, and I’m sure finding work would be a breeze.”
“Yes, darling, you could take over the coffee shop,” my mom suggests. I raise an eyebrow.
“Really? The coffee shop?” I question. “I graduated summa c*m laude from the University of Illinois. I went to law school and kicked ass there. I can’t work in a coffee shop.”
My dad snorts.
“If your ego were any bigger, your head would explode, Ms. No-Job.” “I’m being serious here,” I tell them.
“So are we. You have two options, Chrissy. Either move back to Arcola with Noah, or let Noah come live with us until you can find your footing again in LA.”
There’s a note of finality in his voice. Here’s the thing: I’m a daddy’s girl—the biggest daddy’s girl I know. If my dad tells me to do something, eighty percent of the time, I do it. I trust his judgment and he’s almost always right. But moving back to a town I swore never to return to? That’s a little extreme. How would I even cope? I’m used to the hustle and bustle of LA life. I don’t know if I can handle living in a small town.
Although, if I’m being honest, I’ve thought a lot about moving Noah away from here. LA’s not the best place to raise a kid. It’s expensive, and there’s a lot of pressure to meet societal expectations. It can be hard.
“I’ll call you in a few days after I’ve thought about it,” I say quietly. “Excellent. I can’t wait to see Noah,” my mom says excitedly.
My eyes narrow.
“This is all just a plan to see your grandson more, isn’t it?”
“We can’t confirm nor deny that statement. Bye, baby,” my dad says before hanging up.
I shake my head as I start the car and begin the drive to my son’s school, even though it’s not time to pick him up yet. But I want a hug right now, and my son’s my only chance of getting one.
“Mama,” he yells, standing up from his desk and running into my arms.
I lift him into my arms and run my hands through his dark hair. I give his teacher an apologetic look. She had been in the middle of a class that I interrupted with my arrival.
“Noah, we talked about this. You need to ask for permission before getting up in class,” his teacher says with a frown.
“My mama’s here,” he states in confusion.
“Yes, I see that, but you should have raised your hand and asked if you could stand up.” He blinks his hazel green eyes once.
“Why?”
I smile before turning to his teacher.
“I’m sorry, Miss Shaw, I shouldn’t have dropped by unannounced. It’s my fault,” I tell her. She nods. “It’s alright, Ms. Lawson. He can gather his books and go.”
After getting all his stuff, I lead Noah to my red Prius. He waits until I’ve strapped him into his booster seat and started the car before pestering me with questions.
“What are you doing here, Mama? Why aren’t you at work? Is something wrong? Why did I have to leave school early—”
“Noah, breathe,” I interrupt softly.
He stops talking and takes a deep breath. I know he’s counting to five in his head. It’s something he does to help calm himself down when his brain goes into overdrive.
“Can I speak?” I question. “Yes, Mama.”
“Alright, so first things first.” I take a deep breath before continuing. “Mama got fired from work today.”
He’s silent for three seconds. “Why?” he asks calmly.
“Well, I may have done a terrible job at work and now I don’t have one anymore.” “You’re not a lawyer anymore?”
“Technically, I still am a lawyer. I just don’t have a workplace anymore,” I reply.
“So, when are you getting another one?” he questions. “I don’t know, monkey,” I tell him.
“There’s lots of jobs, right? Just go find another one.”
“It’s not that easy, baby. I’m not sure I want to be a lawyer anymore, actually. I don’t think I’m very good at it.”
“You’re the best lawyer I know,” he exclaims. “And how many lawyers do you know?” I ask him.
“One,” he replies, making me chuckle. “But I know you’re the best.” “I am pretty good,” I concede. “But not in the ways that really matter.” “What does that mean?” Noah questions.
“I can’t really explain right now, monkey.”
“Okay. So, what will you do if you aren’t a lawyer anymore?”
He always asks all the right questions. Too bad I don’t have any answers for him right now. I find his eyes in the rearview mirror. They’re so inquisitive and bright. He’s only six years old but sometimes acts older than he is. Other times, he’s a brat, though. I love him more than life itself.
My little baby.
- Writer
