by Ellie Wade
“It’s been a hell of a morning already,” Cat explains. “But I wasn’t going to miss Lovie’s first day of school!” She crouches down and hugs Love.
“Me either,” Quinn says, mirroring Cat’s affection.
“Awe, you didn’t have to come. I would’ve sent pictures,” I say.
“I had to see the big event in person,” Cat exclaims, and Quinn adamantly agrees.
“Speaking of,” Amos says under his breath. “I think her teacher is waiting for her.”
I look in the direction that Amos indicates, and sure enough, Love’s teacher, who looks as if she’s barely out of high school, waves in our direction. We’ve stood here for a good fifteen minutes taking photos and watching the other kids make their way through the doors of the brick building.
I’m unable to delay the inevitable any longer. It’s Love’s turn.
“Oh, wait. I promised I’d get a picture. Everyone get together,” Cat says, and we quickly comply as she holds up her phone to snap some group photos.
Love’s teacher crosses the parking lot to greet us. “Is this Love Harding?”
“It sure is,” I say with pride.
“Great. Are we ready?” She looks toward the five sentimental-eyed adults when she asks this question.
“Yeah.” I nod. “She’s very ready.”
“I love you, baby. Have a great day!” I say to Love. Her teacher takes her hand and leads her toward the school.
The five of us stand on the sidewalk, facing the school, our arms raised and hands waving. Amos has his phone out recording Love’s walk into the school. The group of us must surely look silly, but we’re Love’s people, and when I stop to think about it—she has some pretty amazing people in her corner.
Love skips beside her teacher, her long, wavy ponytail bounces against her glittery Rapunzel backpack. She’s so happy, joy radiates from her. She doesn’t look back toward me as they enter the school, and though it breaks my heart a little, it fills me with pride. My little girl is so strong and brave. At three, she’s bolder than I am in many ways.
The bright red door of the school closes behind them as the cars from the parent drop-off loop clears.
“She’s not old enough. I should get her back,” I blurt out, feeling panicked.
“She’s going to be great,” Amos reassures me.
“How is this happening already? She’s still a baby. She’s not ready for school.” My voice comes out a tad shrieky, but I couldn’t care less. My Love just walked into the school, practically all by herself, and I’m feeling a little light-headed as my heart races.
“She looked pretty ready to me,” Quinn points out the obvious.
I blow out a breath. “I know,” I grumble. “I’m just not ready.”
“It’s only a few half days a week. She’ll be great.” Amos pulls me into a side hug and kisses my temple.
A muted sob sounds to my side, and I pivot to see Lee-Anne crying into a handkerchief.
“Mom?” I question, dragging out her name.
“I’m sorry. She’s just so little.” She sniffles, raising her arm toward the school and dropping it back to her side.
I wrap my arms around my mother. “She really is, but it’s only three half days a week.” I echo Amos’s words from moments ago.
Clinging to Lee-Anne’s embrace, I still can’t wrap my mind around the fact that my daughter is ready for preschool. When I close my eyes, I can imagine the day she was born as if it were yesterday, and I feel it all in vivid colors. The sound she made. The way her warm, slippery body felt in my arms after she first came out. The way she smelled. The way her cute little lips puckered when she looked into my eyes. Everything about her was perfect, a miracle.
“We can do brunch if you want? I don’t need to be at work right now,” I offer.
Lee-Anne shakes her head and wipes the cloth beneath her eyes. “No. I’m fine. I have somewhere to be.”
“Where?” I question, dropping my embrace. Taking a step back, I study my mother.
“It’s nothing. Just breakfast with a friend.”
“With who?” I ask, knowing that she doesn’t have any friends in this city.
She brushes off my question and says a quick goodbye to the group before scurrying off after reminding me, once again, that she’ll meet me here to pick up Love at eleven.
“That was weird,” I observe quietly as Lee-Anne retreats.
“Sounds like she has a man friend,” Quinn says.
“Oh, definitely,” Cat agrees. “Listen, I have to run. I’m catching a plane to LA in a bit. I have a shoot.”
“Oh? With who?” I ask.
She twists to the side to show us her rear. “Let’s just say that this ass is going to be representing some way too expensive jeans in the near future.”
“Nice.” I grin. “Thank you for coming. I’m sure it meant a lot to Love.”
“Wouldn’t have missed it.” She kisses each of my cheeks. “We’ll catch up when I get back.”
She supplies a quick farewell to Amos and Quinn and is off, speed walking back in the direction from which she came.
Quinn takes my hand. “I could actually go for a girls’ brunch. I have some things I want to talk to you about.”
I look at Amos in question. “Go.” He nods. “I can take care of anything that comes up at the Lair.”
“That ten o’clock appointment with Earl from the sport’s therapy clinic?” I say.
“Handled.” He leans in for a kiss. “Have fun.”
“Great!” Quinn squeals, looping her arm through mine. “Bye, Amos!” she says as she leads us toward her car.
Quinn drives us to a bougie restaurant in Ann Arbor that has fancy seating, complete with padded faux leather white chairs and black cloth umbrellas shielding us from the September sun.
We catch up over mimosas and veggie and feta-filled omelets.
“So, you and Amos are doing well?” she asks.
I stab a strawberry with my fork. “Yeah, very well. He’s officially moved in. Let’s be honest, he was practically living with me already. Now, it’s official.”
She swirls the bit of orange juice left in her champagne flute. “Still, that’s a big step. You’re feeling okay about everything?”
“I am. It’s been amazing. And”—I scrunch up my face—“I’m actually seeing a therapist to work through the lingering Leo guilt. Like four years overdue. Right?”
“Oh, Alma.” She places a hand on mine. “That’s so good. I’m glad. I’m sure it helps to have another person to listen, validate, and help you sort out all the deep stuff.”
“It’s been great. While I’m there, it feels like chatting with a friend. After I leave, I notice my perspective shift a bit and feel lighter, somehow. You know?”
“That’s the sign of a good therapist.” Quinn grins. “No one wants to go somewhere and feel judged. The most beneficial healing is done when you don’t even realize it’s happening.”
“I agree. Otherwise, I’d overthink it all.”
“Yep.” Quinn nods, her long blond hair bobbing against her shoulders. “That’s so great, Alma. I’m so happy for you.”
Quinn stares at her plate, flicking around a piece of onion that’s fallen from the omelet.
“Is everything okay with you?” I raise a brow. “Sounded like you wanted to talk about something earlier?”
She lowers her fork to her plate and drops her hands to her lap. She chews on the corner of her lip and levels her gaze at me. “There’s someone.”
I set my fork on the table and give my full attention to Quinn. She seems nervous. “A guy, someone?”
“Yeah.” She pulls in a breath. “I think I like him a lot.”
“Okay,” I draw out, squinting toward her. “I’m sensing a but?”
“I think I like him a lot, but I don’t want to.” She pulls her bottom lip into her mouth, raking her teeth over the skin beneath her lip. “He’s an addict. Or was, though I think they still use presen
t tense, so technically is. I don’t know.”
I wait, knowing she’ll continue.
“He’s clean and has been for fourteen years. He’s a little older than me. I’ve been attracted to him for a while but haven’t acted on it. You know? I mean, after what you went through…I don’t ever want to love an addict. It’s too hard. I admire you so much, Alma. I think it’s incredible—what you went through and how you came out of it stronger than before—but I don’t think that’s me. It would destroy me. I know it. I can’t take that risk.”
“Yeah.” I sigh, not knowing what to say.
“He could stay clean, of course, and we could be happy. Yet there would always be that fear in the back of my mind that he’ll relapse. Leo was clean for four years, and he relapsed. It could happen.” Quinn looks at me expectantly.
“It could,” I admit. “That’s the thing. You never know. Fourteen years is a long time to be clean to falter, but it happens. Though, it may not. You really like him,” I state.
“I do. God, I mean, we’ve had this flirtation thing going for a few years. Every time I give in to it just a little, I’m drawn toward him like a magnet. Seriously, everything about me craves everything about him. I’ve been fighting it because I’m so scared. I talked to a couple of my sisters, and they told me to run far away from him and fast. But they don’t understand.”
“It sounds to me like you’re wanting me to tell you to go for it,” I say.
Quinn shrugs. “Maybe I am but at the same time, I’m hoping you don’t.”
“I can’t tell you what the right answer is, Quinn. You just have to follow your gut and your heart. Is this guy worth it? Is the possibility of something great worth the possibility of something horrible? Only you know that answer.”
“Would you change anything? If you knew then what you know now, would it have mattered?” she asks.
I shake my head. “No. I wouldn’t have changed a thing. He was worth it.”
29
Amos
Love is dressed in toddler skinny jeans and a festive flannel shirt. She’s wearing a big orange ribbon in her hair to match the flannel and skips around in her knee-high brown boots. She’s straight out of a Gap ad and adorable. Growing up, Alma had a simple fashion—shorts or jeans, and a T-shirt.
She’s different now. As her confidence has grown throughout her twenties, her clothing choices have changed and matured, making her even sexier.
Alma comes down the stairs wearing the same outfit as Love, sans the bow.
I shake my head with a chuckle. “Well, look at you.”
She shrugs, smiling bright. “I thought it’d be cute in the pictures, and…” She extends her arm out in front of her displaying a similar flannel to what she and Love are sporting. “…I got this for you.”
“Oh.” I nod. “So…we’re all going to match?”
“Yep!” She hops toward me and holds out the shirt. “Do you love it?”
“It’s definitely familiar, like I’ve seen it twice already today.” I grin.
“Try it on.” She hands me the shirt. “Please.” She throws in the last word in the sweet tone she uses that I can’t resist.
I put the flannel on over the T-shirt I’m already wearing and button it up. I hold out my arms and do a spin for Alma to see.
She squeals, her hands on her face. “You are so adorable. Yes! It’s a winner.” Standing on her tiptoes, she presses her lips to me. “We are going to be the cutest ones there.”
Lee-Anne arrives, wearing the same flannel as Alma with some moderations. Lee-Anne’s version has slits cut into it along the bottom hem. I’m assuming she was going for a flirty and free look, but the dangling fabric reminds me of a scarecrow’s outfit. Unlike Alma’s skinny jeans, Lee-Anne’s are complete bell bottoms, probably from the nineteen seventies. She’s sewn sunflower patches all over the front of her jeans, completing the look.
“Alright, Gigi’s here. We’re ready to go!” Alma calls out and heads out to the car.
There are several pumpkin patches in the area, but we drive out of town a little ways, stopping at one that has a petting zoo, pony rides, freshly made apple donuts and cider, and a hay maze, in addition to the giant field of pumpkins.
Alma is full-fledged paparazzi as she snaps photo after photo of Love with the pumpkins—Love looking at the pumpkins with curiosity, Love using the pumpkins as a chair, climbing the pumpkins, and attempting to lift the pumpkins.
“She’s just so adorable, isn’t she?” Alma says in awe.
“Yes, she is, babe, and I think you’ve captured it all.” I release a chuckle.
We follow Love through the patch as she looks for the perfect carving pumpkins.
“Michigan autumns are so amazing. Can you imagine living somewhere without apple trees and pumpkin patches? That’d be so sad.” Alma says. “Plus, the backdrop of the changing leaf colors. It’s all so magical.”
“Yeah, the fall is pretty great, but I’m sure people in other states don’t think about it much. I mean, you can’t miss what you’ve never had, I suppose. Like Floridians, I bet they have orange festivals or something instead, and while we have the beauty of each season, they have the backdrop of the ocean. They probably wonder how people could live up north where it’s cold, and there’s no ocean. It’s all relative,” I say.
“True,” Alma says. “The cold’s not amazing, but the snow is pretty.”
“It is.”
Alma stops walking and crouches down. “Lovie, smile,” she says and snaps another picture. “We should get some family shots,” she says to me.
The three of us pose on the pumpkins while Lee-Anne snaps pictures. Then I get some good shots of just the girls. We ask a stranger to take a few of the four of us.
“So many framers,” Alma says, flipping through the photo gallery on her phone. “We should do a whole wall in the entryway of autumn pictures.”
“Sounds good,” I agree.
When Love has picked out the perfect pumpkins for all of us, I load them into the wagon and set Love atop them, pulling her toward the main building.
I leave the girls at a picnic table and go inside to pay for the pumpkins and get some donuts and cider. When I return, Lee-Anne is telling Love all about the glorious benefits of the pumpkin seed.
“Now, when we get home, we can pull the seeds out and bake them. Pumpkin seeds are very yummy and so healthy. They’re really high in fiber, which helps your body. Plus, they have a lot of antioxidants and are high in magnesium. They help the heart, and bladder, and prostate,” Lee-Anne adds proudly.
“Mother.” Alma groans. “I don’t think Love needs help with a prostate, and she doesn’t know what half those words are. Just say, they’re healthy. Is it that hard?”
“Uh-huh.” Love pouts. “I want a postate.”
“No, a prostate is something that boys have that girls don’t,” Alma explains to Love.
“I want one, too,” Love says defiantly.
I can’t help but laugh. Alma is raising Love to believe she can do anything in this world, which is the right way to raise girls but growing an organ just isn’t one of them.
“Who wants donuts?” I cheer, putting an immediate halt to Love’s previous focus.
She stands up on the chair of the picnic table and cheers. “Me! Me!”
“Okay, I got a special one just for you, my Love.” She smiles wide and takes the freshly made warm donut from my hand, a look of wonder on her face as she takes a bite.
I hold one out to Lee-Anne and see the torment in her eyes as she decides if this donut is worth breaking her sugar ban for. “You know you want it, Lee-Anne.” I laugh. “All fresh ingredients, made just now, no preservatives.”
“Oh.” She groans, taking the donut from me. “You sure know how to sweet-talk a lady, Amos Davis.”
I slide onto the picnic table bench next to Alma and hand her a napkin and apple cinnamon donut before pulling the paper cups out of the bag and pouring the apple cider.
Bees circle the table around us, waiting to drink the sweet cider from an abandoned cup.
“Don’t be afraid of the bees,” Lee-Anne tells Love. “Bees are our friends and champions for Mother Earth. We couldn’t live without bees.” Lee-Anne reaches her hand out toward a bee on the wooden table and rests her hand next to it. The bee climbs up onto her fingers and walks across the top of her hand. “See, he’s my friend.”
Alma and I exchange looks and shake our heads with a smile.
Love’s face lights up, and she admires the bee on her Gigi’s hand.
“Yes, bees are our friends, but we still have to be careful around them,” Alma tells Love. “They can get scared easily, and if they are frightened, they’ll sting, and it doesn’t feel good.”
Alma’s words stir something in Love, and she moves her face away from the bee. “Joey got stung by a bee at school and cried,” Love says with a look of worry.
“Yeah, it hurts a little when a bee stings you, like a pinch. So, it’s better to give them their space when you can,” Alma says. “Plus, bees have an important job, so we want to leave them alone to do it.”
Lee-Anne nods in agreement, shooing the bee from her hand. She takes a bite of her donut and proceeds to tell Love all about the wonders of pollination. Love listens in awe as Lee-Anne describes the bees jumping from flower to flower and plant to plant.
If Lee-Anne gets her way, I’m sure she’d want Love to grow up to be an environmental activist, saving one tree at a time much like Alma and I protect children. Whatever Love grows to be, it’s going to be amazing. The way she listens to stories, such as this one, that should be over her head and asks appropriate questions as to how everything works shows the brilliance of her young mind. She’s smart, compassionate, and strong-willed, which, in my opinion, are the makings of a powerful woman who will do incredible things. And I have no doubt she will.
