Chapter 1-3
1061 Words
“Kevin, will you please sit down?”
He huffed. I was not looking forward to teenage years. At almost ten years old, the moodiness was already starting. God help me when he had his first girlfriend.
“Becca, you need to finish that worksheet before you can go play.”
Becca opened her mouth to argue, but I just pointed.
I turned back to the stove when she sat down again. I stirred the macaroni and checked on the chicken. It was almost done, so I put the green beans and carrots into the microwave. Yes, I fed my kids vegetables out of a can, not fresh. Don’t judge me.
I heard someone get up again and spun with the spoon in my hand.
“What in the world is going on? Kevin. Why are you up again?”
He held up his pencil. “I need to sharpen it.”
I looked at the stubby end of the pencil and sighed. “Fine. Then sit down and finish your math homework. Dinner’s almost ready.”
Kevin sharpened his pencil and went back to his seat. A few minutes later, I drained the macaroni then added milk, butter, and the powdered cheese sauce. When that was stirred, I grabbed the pan with the baked chicken and set it on the stovetop. Becca ran past the kitchen, probably trying to avoid getting yelled at.
“Where are you going?” I called after her.
She paused and turned back to look at me. “I need to potty.”
I nodded, and she ran down the hall across from the kitchen toward the half bath. I stretched my neck and daydreamed about the bath I was hoping to take when the kids were in bed.
As Becca ran back through the kitchen, I pulled the green beans and carrots from the microwave. Three plates of food. Three drinks. Forks, spoons. Shoot. I forgot to cut up their chicken. I ran a knife through the pieces of chicken on their plates then added a healthy dollop of ketchup, because my kids didn’t eat anything without it, then carried everything to the table.
On my second trip, Kevin went to the kitchen and opened the fridge. “What are you looking for?”
“Ketchup.”
“It’s already on your plate.”
Becca was next. “I need a drink.”
“I already have your water poured. I’m working on it.”
She reached for the cup with the princesses on it and sipped it on her way back to the table. I finally sat down with the first scrapes of forks against the plates.
“How was school today?”
Kevin’s milk chocolate eyes, identical to my own, peered at me over the paper towel holder in the center of the table. Homework took up the seat next to him at the head of the table. He didn’t answer, but I could see something in those eyes. Something he didn’t want me to know.
“Fine,” he muttered.
Nice try.
“Did you have fun in music class?”
A shrug.
“How about gym?”
A slight wince before the shrug came. Interesting.
“What were you playing in gym today?”
“Bowling.”
Huh?
“That sounds fun. How does that work?”
Another shrug.
“Should I call your teacher and find out what you did and how it works?”
Frozen stare. Busted!
A sigh. “I was playing around with my friend and accidentally hit someone. I didn’t mean to.”
“Did you get in trouble?”
He nodded. “Mr. McIntyre said we needed to be more careful.”
“Did you have to go to the principal?”
A head shake.
“Are you going to do that again?”
Another head shake.
“I hope not.”
He ducked his head and dug into his dinner. Guess he was done talking.
“How about you, Becca? How was your day?”
“Good. I was the helper in art class today.”
“Cool. What did you get to help with?”
“I handed out the paint brushes, and Mrs. Hunt showed everyone my painting at the end of class because it was the best one.”
I pursed my lips together. If only I had her confidence. My little girl was a bundle of energy and thought she could do anything. I wished I could feel that way, even for just a minute.
“That’s great. How was the rest of your day?”
“Good. Except Mrs. Carr wants to meet with you. There’s a note in my folder.”
Dread settled in my gut. I hated parent-teacher conferences. They went one of two ways. Either the kid was having trouble and the teacher needed to talk to the parent about it, or the kid was doing really well. Usually, in my experience, it wasn’t the second one.
“I’ll look at it and send her an email. Is there anything I should know about before I meet with her?”
Becca shook her head, blonde curls spilling over her shoulders and nearly ending up in her dinner. I reached over and tucked her hair behind her ears. As always, the move made me think about the way Bill’s eyes had filled with tears when he’d met our little blonde girl. After Kevin was born looking so similar to me, Bill was excited to have a kid who looked like him.
Too bad he wasn’t excited about a life with us.
I shook thoughts of my ex out of my head and focused on my kids. Kevin stood and put his plate in the dishwasher, then came back to finish his homework. Becca and I kept eating.
“I have a meeting in the morning, so we need to make sure we make the bus tomorrow. Can we set out clothes tonight?”
Both kids agreed.
Ninety minutes later, both kids were tucked in, clothes were on beds, and I was ready for a glass of wine and that bath I’d been dreaming of. I cleaned the kitchen, picked up the living room, and checked that homework was packed for the morning. Then I poured myself an overly full glass and sipped it on my way to the bathroom. When we found the house, I was anxious about being so far away from the kids at night, but Bill convinced me having them upstairs and us downstairs wasn’t a big deal. It was harder on me than him, but with them getting older, I had an easier time with it.
Especially on nights when I ran the water to fill the tub. Being farther away meant it didn’t wake them up.
The bath was half-full when I heard the sniffles. I spun and found Becca leaning against the door, hair tangled and eyes red-rimmed with sleep and tears.
“What happened?”
“I had a bad dream.”
I glanced back at the tub, then let the water out with a sigh. Guess my bath would wait for another night.
- Writer
