Selling My Soul for My Kids

One More Month

“Please, Mr. Evansly, please just give me one more month.” I stared at the landlord with pleading eyes to no avail. We were standing in my doorway, and I could see my nosy neighbor hanging out of her apartment, all in my business. Normally I would be a little more inconspicuous, but my pride had left the building when Mr. Evansly handed me the eviction notice.

“I’ve given you three months, Amanda, and that’s generous. I usually file evictions after only one.”

“But I have three toddlers, Mr. Evansly. We don’t have anywhere to go,” I said as the tears began to well in my eyes.

Mr. Evansly huffed. He looked at my kids standing behind me, the three of them peering up with their large, beautiful eyes. Mr. Evansly closed his eyes and shook his head.

“One more month, Amanda. I understand how hard it’s been for you since Chris…died.”

Hearing his name was the push the tears needed to fall down my cheeks.

“But this is business. I’ve done all I can do for you.” He leaned in and whispered. “I haven’t even bumped your rent up to market value like I did everyone else.”

“I thank you for that, Mr. Evansly. Just one more month and I can make something happen.” I was lying through my teeth. I had no idea how I was going to come up with four months of rent in one month. Mr. Evansly sighed deeply, took the eviction notice from me, and walked away.

I shut the door and wiped the tears from my eyes before I turned around to look at my babies. They all looked so much like their father. Sometimes looking at them hurt so much. This was one of those times. It took everything I had to hold back a fit of crying. Zain and Zara smiled at me then teetered away to their toys. Zachary, my oldest by two minutes, always seemed wiser than his years. He looked at me a moment longer, then teetered over to me and hugged my legs. He was his father’s child.

I picked him up and carried him over to his siblings. “Don’t worry babies. Everything is going to be fine,” I said to them. “We’re going to be okay.”

“We’ll be okay,” Zain repeated as he smiled at me.

“Okay, who’s ready for dinner?” I asked.

The three of them raised their hands. “Yum!” said Zara. She always said that when it was time to eat. They got up and moved themselves to the little toddler's table with stools that I scored at the thrift store for twenty bucks. It was a yellow plastic table with blue and red legs. It was covered in permanent marker drawings by the last toddler who had it. I thought it was hideous, but the triplets fell in love with it the moment they saw it.

I opened the air fryer and pulled out the nuggets and fries. I separated them onto the little plastic plates I’d bought from Dollar Tree. I squeezed a little bit of honey mustard on each plate and sat them down in front of the kids. Then I got their three plastic cups with the built-in straws, put some ice in each one, and filled them with water. I sat them down in front of the kids as they happily munched on their finger foods.

With the kids happy for the moment, I went over to the sofa that also doubled as my bed and plopped down. I didn’t want to attract the kids’ attention, so I cried silently. I had no idea what I was going to do. I had been trying my hardest to keep things together, but my third-shift job at Birdie Burger just wasn’t making ends meet. Half of my checks went to the babysitter, Shanetta, each week. She wasn’t the best choice. There were plenty of nights I feared for my kids’ safety because she was a drinker, but she was the only person I could afford. The only good thing about Shanetta is that she was dependable. I could count on her to be there, mainly because she used babysitting as an escape from her own life.

I couldn’t afford to work another job because I couldn’t afford extended child care. I had taken extra hours at Birdie Burger anytime I could and I was saving money by getting our food from food banks and charities. I shopped at thrift stores, watched our electricity use, and ate at my job to make our food at home stretch further. Even with all that, I couldn’t keep us afloat. My babies and I were going to be homeless in a month.

I was so tired. I was stressed all the time. The only thing that kept me going was my children. I had to be strong for them. I finished my silent crying just as I felt a headache coming on. I went back over to the kids to see how much progress they’d made. As usual, Zach and Zara had eaten relatively neatly for toddlers, but Zain had splashed his honey mustard on the table and was using a nugget as a paint brush to add a new picture to the table.

“Mommy, your eyes,” said Zara. “Mommy is sad.”

Kids are just too smart sometimes. “No baby, mommy’s not sad,” I said. “I’m just a little tired, that’s all.” I forced a smile, and she ate her last chicken nugget. “Almost time for baths,” I said. “Zara, you’re up since you’re finished.” Zara happily leapt into my outstretched arms. “Alright boys, you know mommy’s rule during bath time.”

“Stay at the table,” said Zach. “That’s right sweetie,” I said. I had strategically placed the table in front of the bathroom door so I could keep an eye on two of the triplets while I was giving the other triplet a bath. Finding hacks like that is imperative when you’re raising three rambunctious toddlers by yourself.

I looked at the microwave clock as I carried Zara to the bathroom. I had 40 minutes to get them bathed before I had to head out to work. Shanetta would be here by then, but I didn’t like the idea of her giving them baths. I always made sure they were ready for bed before I left.

Forty minutes later, the triplets were in bed drifting off to sleep. Shanetta had taken her usual spot on my couch, and I was dashing out the door to Birdie Burgers. What I didn’t know was that it would be the last night I would ever work there.