“Yeah, we don’t need to talk about that part,” I say with a chuckle. “Elliott’s having a hard time with our age difference.”
Joey reels back in surprise. I think he’s actually looking for an excuse to quit cleaning and he’s going with “so surprised he forgot what he was doing.” “What’s wrong with having an age difference?”
Elliott doesn’t look away from the dishes. “It’s a weird feeling being older than the guy I’m dating. I’m old school. I’ll wrap my brain around it eventually.”
Joey looks at me quizzically and then back at her. “You’re not much older than Abel. Wait, are you?”
“I’m forty-two, Joey.”
His jaw drops open again. Seriously, I need to stop having Joey babysit if he’s going to start channeling a pre-pubescent girl when anything surprised him. “Jeez, woman, you look amazing for your age.”
That gets Elliott’s attention enough that she turns to shoot him a glare. “Just what every woman wants to hear. That she looks much better than how elderly she actually is.”
“Seriously, Elliott. That’s why you think this is a big deal? You know how old you actually are. The rest of us assume you’re in your thirties, so it doesn’t cross our minds there’s an age gap.”
Elliott’s face softens, and I can’t help but feel thankful he’s having an easier time getting through to her than I have been. Irritated he thought of this angle first, but mostly thankful.
“Besides,” he continues, putting me on high alert. There’s no telling which direction this will go. “When you’re old, like for real old, he’ll still be young enough to cater to your every whim.”
Elliott’s eyebrows shoot up, and I can tell she’s visualizing all the ways her future self could benefit from this. “I’ve always wanted to have a cabana boy fanning me and feeding me grapes.”
“There ya go!” Joey exclaims. “He can even wear a speedo!”
Elliott’s eyes flash over to mine and she gives me a flirty shrug. “Make sure you keep those abs in shape.”
I shake my head because this conversation has turned ridiculous. Not that I should be surprised, considering who is involved. But at least Joey is working for my benefit.
Now that his work here is done, Joey lets out a huge yawn. “Well, kids, on that note, I need to head home. Work comes early, you know.”
“You’re going to leave us with this mess to clean up?”
“Trust me, Elliott,” I answer for him. “You don’t want Joey to help. He’ll make it worse.”
“Hey!” Joey protests and thinks before nodding. “Okay yeah, he’s right. I’m a terrible cook. I’m an even worse at housekeeping. Which is why I hire a maid once a week.”
Elliott shakes her head and laughs. “And that’s strike three. No way I’d date you now.”
“No worries,” he answers and tosses the dishrag in empty side of the sink. “I don’t feel like getting a beat down from the Beast anyway. I’ll catch you guys tomorrow.”
He saunters out of the room, yelling an “I’m out, ladies!” up the stairs to the girls who immediately race back down to hug him goodbye as well. Elliott and I continue to clean in silence, listening to the sounds of our kids and their favorite babysitter, just enjoying the moment. Like I said, “serious” doesn’t describe us. Nothing about our lives is serious. But it is easy. Exactly as it should be right now.
Chapter Twenty
ELLIOTT
We’re late. Of course. But that’s what happens when you go out on a date during the week and your babysitter lets the kids stay up. Not that I’m complaining. It was a fantastic date. The cleanup when we got home sucked, though. Okay, maybe I’m complaining a little.
Or maybe I’m just tired of fighting with two eight-year-old girls who think their time is more important than the school’s start time.
“Ainsley! Mabel!” I yell for the umpteenth time as I stomp up the stairs. “Girls, we have to leave in ten minutes, and you still have to eat breakfast!”
“Almost ready, Mama!” Sure enough, Ainsley is finally standing in the bathroom brushing her hair. She looks tired, but at least she’s dressed and almost ready to go. It was a rough start, but once her feet hit the floor, she finally started making progress.
Mabel, on the other hand, is nowhere to be found.
“Mabel.” No answer. “Mabel, are you almost ready?” Still no answer. “Mabel, do you need help with anything?”
I round the corner into her room and there she is. Not only ignoring me, but tucked in her bed, blankets up to her chin, sleeping.
Rolling my eyes to the ceiling, I pray for patience because this is not going to help us get out the door any faster, and she is already on my last nerve with the way she backtalks every morning. I try to give her grace because I’m fully aware she’s struggling with the loss of her mother, and I represent everything she doesn’t have. But that still doesn’t make it okay for her to be a little brat to me. And it certainly doesn’t make it okay for her to make us all late.
I really need to address it with Abel. At first, I assumed the attitude would taper off, but it keeps getting worse. I hate the idea of the potential confrontation, but if things keep going the way they are, he’ll have to start taking her to the gym again. I don’t think anyone wants that. Not even me.
Right now, though, I don’t have time to worry about a conversation that hasn’t happened yet or pussyfoot around Mabel’s issues. I have errands to run before work and taking the time to walk into the school, sign both girls in, and discuss with the principal why they are tardy is not on my list.
So, I do what anyone in charge of a defiant child would do—I grab the blankets and pull.
“Hey!” Mabel yells as she’s uncovered. “Those blankets were warm.” She’s remarkably coherent and non-groggy sounding for someone who was “sleeping” a few second ago.
“So is your winter coat,” I say flippantly. “Which you need to have on in nine minutes so we can get to school on time.”
She paws at her blankets which I refuse to let her have. “That means I can sleep for a little longer.”
“No. You can’t. Get up and get dressed. You’re already going to miss breakfast.”
“What?” she screeches, suddenly sitting upright. “You can’t do that!”
“I didn’t do anything, Mabel. This is the third time I’ve woken you up. When you choose not to follow instructions, you lose out. Now, get up.” I pull the sheet and blankets all the way off the bed and toss them into the corner. I can fix that later. What I’m not going to do is make it easy for her to go back to pretend sleep.
Turning to walk out of the room, I hear a sniffle behind me. I’m not about to fall for it, but I need to at least be a good person and address it on the off chance something is actually bothering her.
“Mabel, I’m not angry. You just need to get a move on.”
A lone alligator tear runs down her cheek. “I’m tired because Joey let us stay up so late.”
“We’re all tired from last night. But everyone else is up and at ’em. Like you need to be.”
Aaaaand the tears dry up faster than they came, a scowl re-emerges, and Defiant Mabel rears her ugly head once again. It’s a sad day when that’s considered normal in the morning.
“Fine!” she yells, jumping out of bed and stomping her feet on the floor, hands in tight fists. “I’m up! Are you happy now?”
“Very. You’ve got eight minutes.”
As I walk out, Mabel yells after me, “I hate you! I hate you so much!”
“I’m not here to be liked, Mabel,” I say calmly, refusing to lose eye contact. I won’t back down from an eight-year-old, no matter how in control she thinks she should be. “I’m here to keep you safe and on time. That’s it.”
Now that the hard part of the morning is finally over, I check on my slow-as-molasses child again, who needs a bit of help with her hair. Then we head downstairs for Ainsley to grab a banana for breakfast and for me to gather our things.<
br />
Backpacks – Check.
Lunch boxes – Check.
Purse with keys and work badge – Check.
“Two minutes, ladies! We have to go!” I yell, as I begin pulling coats out of the closet and slipping my own on.
“Coming, Mom!” Ainsley grabs her coat from the back of the couch, and I’m thankful at least one of these girls is working with me this morning, however slow-going she’s been.
“Mabel! Let’s go!”
The words are no more than out of my mouth when the devil child comes sauntering down the stairs, still in her Vampirina jammies. Her eyes are trained on mine, and I know she wants to get into yet another power struggle with me. Little does she know I’ve done this before with Ainsley. It didn’t work out so well with her, which is why, for the most part, she doesn’t test me anymore. Still, I have to address it before walking out the door. I may need to refer back to this conversation if things go badly with her father when he finds out about this.
“Why aren’t you dressed?” I ask, as Mabel quietly puts on her shoes.
“I am.”
“You’re still in your jammies.”
“I’m wearing them to school,” she says calmly and stands up to reach for her coat.
Just as I suspected. Thankfully, her hair is done, and I thought I heard her brushing her teeth, so really, there’s no reason to fight about the rest. I’m not interested in having another control battle with her and, frankly, I’m not going to be the one who is embarrassed by wearing jammies all day, anyway. At this point, natural consequences might do a better job of getting through to her than I am.
“Okay. Well, let’s go.”
Mabel pauses momentarily, and I catch the look of surprise on her face. I admit, she’s good at schooling it quickly; no doubt a trick she learned from her mother.
Okay, fine. That was very judgmental of me. But I refuse to believe the devil side of this child came from her father. I’m not sure he has a mean bone in his body. Ornery bones, sure. He’s practically built from those.
We walk out the door, Mabel still eyeing me every so often like she’s waiting for me to say “I’m kidding! Go change.” But I don’t. I hand everyone their stuff, shuffle us onto the small porch, and lock the door behind us, as if she hasn’t fazed me at all. That’s the only real way to win with kids, right?
“Let’s go friends. I think we’re going to make it on time.”
The girls fall into their normal morning routine, skipping ahead of me, backpacks bopping up and down as they giggle with each other. Except for the purple cartoon character on Mabel’s pants, we give the appearance it’s been just like any other morning. Until Mabel turns around and starts walking backward.
“I need a donut.”
“Sorry, Charlie. We’ve got places to go and people to see.” I make sure my tone sounds friendly and fun. Not that I’m feeling affectionate toward her right now. But my patience is returning now that we’re back on track and she’ll still only eight. It’s my job to be the bigger person.
“But the donut shop is right there.” She points across the street to one of my favorite haunts. Really, I’d love to stop in. But that would be admitting defeat.
“It is. But we don’t have even a minute to spare, so let’s get a move on, ladies.”
I keep my voice light, assuming it will diffuse things before they escalate again. My first indication that it’s a mistake to give her the benefit of the doubt sometimes is when she stops walking. Second indication? When her hands go to her hips.
Lord, here we go again. Give me strength…
“But I haven’t eaten breakfast.”
“That’s what happens when you refuse to get up.”
She cocks her head slightly, like her highness doesn’t appreciate my answer.
Well, I don’t appreciate her attitude, so I guess we’re even.
“But I’m gonna be hungry.”
I shrug and refuse to acknowledge that she is really starting to irritate me. “You should have thought of that earlier. You were warned several times and told you had ten minutes to get dressed and eat. You took all ten minutes piddling around your room.”
Mabel’s face turns red as she stomps her foot, a shriek coming out of her mouth that is so loud, random passersby turn to see what all the commotion is about. Ainsley’s so shocked at this behavior her eyes get wide.
“But I’m hungry!” Mabel screams, still stomping. “It’s your job to feed me! Feed me! Feed me!”
I cross my arms and roll my eyes. “I tried. You refused. Tell your teacher. Maybe she’ll care.”
It’s a low blow for me, but it does the trick. Mabel turns on her heel and stomps the entire rest of the way to school. It’s painfully obvious to anyone walking down the street she isn’t just angry; she is livid. But she’s also quiet, so I can’t find it in me to care.
I am a horrible person sometimes.
Ah, well. That’s motherhood in a nutshell.
By the time we get to the school grounds, Mabel is at least fifty yards ahead of us. Ainsley opted to fall back with me, because apparently, anger fuels Mabel’s ability to move faster than turtle speed. No telling what else it fuels, but with her love of kickboxing, my kid probably has the right idea.
Mabel rounds the corner first and is halfway up the stairs when Ainsley and I stop.
“She’ll be fine,” I try to reassure her. “Once she focuses on something else, she’ll stop being mad at me and her mood will change.”
“I don’t know, Mom.” Ainsley shakes her head in disbelief. “She’s really mad at you.”
“She’s always mad at me, hon. It has nothing to do with me, so you don’t need to worry about it, okay? Just have a good day at school, learn something new, and make good choices. Sound good?”
Ainsley nods and gives me a small smile, her cute little nose bright red from the cold.
I hug her goodbye and wave as she speed-walks up the steps into the large brick building. Before she’s even inside, Ms. Alexander is already approaching. How she made it out of her nice warm office, down the steps, and to me in that short amount of time is baffling.
“Ms. Donovan.” Uh oh. She already sounds pissed. We haven’t been here long enough to get in trouble, so I’m not sure what she’s already cranky about. “You probably don’t know this, but Mabel is wearing pajama pants.”
I feign shock and throw my hand over my heart. “What? Really? The girls told me they were the latest in children’s fashion.” Yes, it’s snotty of me to act like this, but I’m tired enough of conflict today that I can’t help myself.
I must be a better actress than I realized because Ms. Alexander continues as if my words weren’t dripping in sarcasm. “Be that as it may, it’s against school policy for children to wear nightclothes during school hours.”
I furrow my brow. “Are you sure? Because every year we have Polar Express day and kids are encouraged to wear their jammies. The memo comes home in Ainsley’s backpack, and I get an email reminder.”
Ms. Alexander startles. She probably wasn’t expecting me to fight back. If dealing with Mabel gave me nothing else this morning, it put me at the edge of my limit for other people’s crap. And I can smell this turd of a policy from a mile away.
“Well, there are exceptions to the rule.”
“Oh. Good. Well then, thank you for making an exception for Mabel this morning. I’ll make sure she doesn’t try to dupe me again.”
Ms. Alexander’s mouth opens and closes and opens and closes again. Clearly, I’ve stumped her on how to respond. Has it always been this easy or am I truly on fire today?
Finally, she finishes our conversation with “Well. I will hold you to that.”
She turns around quickly, obviously determined to keep the upper hand. Unfortunately for her, I’m feeling feisty today and refuse to let her win.
“Thank you, Ms. Alexander. Have a great day!” I call after her cheerily. She doesn’t even bother to acknowledge me.
&nb
sp; Sighing, I run through my mental list of what I need to do now.
Go to the bank.
Swing by the post office for stamps.
Hit the grocery store for a quick lunch since I didn’t have time to make one this morning.
Share a morning lunch with Abel so I can tell him about Mabel’s behavior.
Oh, how I wish going to the dentist was the fourth thing on my list. I have a feeling it would be way less painful than what I have in store.
Chapter Twenty-One
ABEL
I don’t bother trying to stifle my yawn as I make my way to the smoothie bar. It’s been a rough morning.
After our date last night, I had to peel myself out of my bed to make it here on time. It was worth it, of course, but still not fun to power through at four-something in the morning. Didn’t help that I was right in the middle of a fantastically erotic dream where Elliott was bouncing on my big balls—and I don’t mean on the Wii.
To make things worse, my five-fifteen client was extra motivated today and challenged me to see who could run a mile faster. Never one to back down from a challenge, I took Trevor up on it. I kicked his ass, of course, but at the cost of depleting my energy.
My six-thirty class was relatively mild, although the snow-bird ladies—which is what I lovingly refer to them as, even though none of them have ever been to Florida—were more chatty than normal and wanted my input into why a beautiful woman like their granddaughter—yes, all their granddaughters. Amazing how they all seem to have the most beautiful one—is still single and would I be interested in their phone numbers.
I wasn’t, of course. And it has nothing to do with the four babies by four baby daddies. Swear.
Okay, fine. Even if Elliott wasn’t in the picture, I have no interest in instability. Even if the woman in question is a sure thing. Model-esque physique only goes so far. I learned that lesson the hard way.
Sliding onto a stool at the counter, I drop my head onto my arms. Not terribly professional of me, but I don’t care at this point. I’m more interested in how Elliott’s morning went. Hopefully, it was better than mine.
Cutie and the Beast: A Roommates to Lovers Single Dad Romance (Cipher Office Book 3) Page 16
