Once I see a nod from both of them, I continue. “Here’s the thing, guys. I like you. I see you around the lot and I really wanted to come to the races today. I don’t have a lot of friends and I’m sick of hanging out with my brother.”
They both giggle and I grin. “Your mom probably could have used the time to take a nap or something. Plus, she wouldn’t have brought you to this, would she?”
They both laugh like I’ve suggested something ridiculous and shake their heads.
The announcer’s voice booms through the crowd. “And here we have The Cannibal, folks. He’s been waiting in the wings and he’s about to clean things up.”
We all look at each other, half frozen as if we’ve been caught in headlights. I grab my food and nod at theirs. “What are you waiting for? The Cannibal is up! Let’s go!”
When we sit back in our seats, I pull out my phone to see if I’ve missed anything from David about the truck business. Instead, I find a slew of text messages in the group since I left the house.
I scroll down a bit, but stop as I realize Savvy is actually talking about me. Nonstop.
The crowd roars and the monster trucks thunder as my lips curve in a definitely egotistical smirk.
Savvy: That was like magic, you guys.
Dion: Took them where?
Alex: What’s going on? Why would he do that? Is he your babysitter?
Apple: Did you tell him you needed help?
Veve: How do you know where they’re going? Can you trust him?
Savvy: Oh, yeah, the kids know him. He really is a good guy. Very nice. I just… I’m not sure why he decided to come get them today.
Sara: I want to see this guy. He’s hot and good? I don’t believe it. What’s his flaw? Does he have any? He can’t be perfect. No one is.
Savvy: I’ll try to get a photo, but you have to hear his voice to get the whole experience. You guys, he’s better in person.
Better in person? And she likes my voice? I’m grinning like an idiot. I wish I could tease her about the things she is saying, but I want to hear more of them. I shove the inkling of guilt trying to push through my delight in what she’s saying. I glance up to make it look like I’m more involved in the races than I am.
Dion: He has a hot voice? Oh, girl. That is one of my weaknesses. Tell us more!
Please, do. I eat another fry and nod, cheering along with the crowd.
Savvy: Okay, I’ll swear I never said any of this, if it ever gets out. I swear he lifts. I’ve never seen a back and set of shoulders like his before.
Apple: Ew. Like a ‘roid boy? You know, if they do roids…
Savvy: No! He can’t do those. He’s not grossly bulky. It’s more like… I don’t even know how to explain it. I feel like you guys need to come see for yourself.
“You’re missing The Cannibal!” Dexter has to scream it and I shove my phone in my pants pocket. He’s right. I can catch up on the texts later.
Which I definitely will be doing as soon as I get home.
Chapter 11
Savvy
I’ve been pacing since Knox drove off with my kids. I pause at some point to check in with Planner-Paul to see what I’ve written down for the day.
Take Day Off.
Great. Take the day off to do what? I can’t even remember what I’d been doing during that planning session. I go back to pacing, back and forth, back and forth.
My chest rises and falls as I try to get control of my breathing. The walls of the house seem to push in on me.
The kids are gone. They’re not coming back.
I try texting the group as well as KT to give me something to do, but it isn’t working. I’m not distracted enough. I need to… I don’t know what.
Climbing on the treadmill doesn’t do a lot either. I run for thirty minutes and all I am at the end of the session is sweaty and more frustrated feeling.
Taking a shower helps me feel at least in control of my appearance and I skip downstairs, more confident about… I’m not sure what.
It’s fine. Okay. I need to distract myself from having nothing specific to do.
What do I do every other Sunday? Normally, the kids and I talk and get ready for the rest of the week. We’ll all get our planners out and sit at the table and make sure our activities and things are organized correctly. Well, they have small pocket calendars. I have the planner. Dexter hates his, but that’s not the point. I just know he’ll warm up to the habit once he gets a handle on it.
Abby, however, seems to like hers for the most part. She writes in it at the table. I’m not sure what she writes, but at least she’s not wasting the paper.
In jeans and a t-shirt, I sit at the counter and pull Paul closer to me. I only use No. 2 mechanical pencils, usually in 0.7 mm. I have a whole drawer of them in the office that I cover with blank paper. I don’t want anyone to steal them. I need them. I’m not sure what for, but what if the world ended and I needed a pencil? I need to know I have some.
Picking up the one I have tucked into the pencil band at the edge of my planner cover, I take a deep breath.
Just because the kids aren’t here, doesn’t mean I can’t get the week planned. Planning is one of my favorite things to do. I feel like I’m controlling time as I maneuver things around on the dashboard and calendar in Paul.
I just stare at the cover for a moment. The predominant color is white. But then there’s an indigo blue tie-dyed design on it and “Kill It” is written in a beautiful handwriting script in embossed copper. The discs are a dark copper color and the paper is like writing on velvet.
I have a thing for planners. I’ve been searching for the perfect one for what feels like forever. After Keith left, I made it my life’s mission to find “The One” and when I did, I named him Paul.
Abby thinks I’m mental, but she’s not holding it together quite like I am.
Okay, I might be mental. I’m definitely not holding it together.
Flipping Paul open, I scan the pages for the upcoming week. Fortunately, there’s already some things I need to get done in there. So, all I need to really do is plan out my menu as well as get the kids’ schedules into mine. That shouldn’t be too hard.
Turning the page back to the current week including Sunday, I stare at the empty day. I start to breathe shallowly again. This can’t be possible. I didn’t write down what I’m going to eat today?
I always write that down. I have to write it down. It’s what I do. If I don’t have it written down, at least an idea, then I have nothing to start with and that leads to a problem.
A serious problem.
I scrawl on the page at the top. “No binging, Savanah. You can’t. No. Remember last time?” I read the words out loud to hammer them into my head.
Spike meows at the door and I get up, breaking my trance with Paul. Spike waddles outside, her tail in the air like she isn’t carrying an extra bowling ball in the middle of her abdomen.
I roll my eyes and shut the door, then glance outside.
The black cat is out there!
He’s there. I can see him walking carefully along the top ridge of the fence between mine and my neighbor’s yard. The neighbor who lives directly behind me is the one with the cat-baby-daddy.
I narrow my eyes and spy someone’s head bobbing up and down just past the fence. If I was on the deck and the neighbor was closer to his own house, I’d be able to see something – maybe. Setting my jaw, I open the door and rush outside, down the back steps and across the needs-to-be-mowed grass.
A foot from the fence I stop and scan the fence line. How am I supposed to get over it? Talk through it? I guess that’s the only recourse I have.
I lift my hand and hesitate for a moment and then rap my knuckles on the wood. “Are you over there? Hello?”
“Yeah, hello? I’m here.” A man’s deep voice catches me off guard and I take a deep breath.
“Good. I’m glad you’re there. Listen, my name is Savanah Miller. My friends call me Savvy, but no
t you. I mean…” I sigh and continue. “I… live back here. Anyway, your cat knocked up my cat.”
He doesn’t say anything, but I swear I can hear him thinking through what I’ve said and trying not to laugh at me.
Why wouldn’t he laugh? I just accused him of having a promiscuous cat.
“Okay?” The sounds of a cell phone going off cut into our conversation and my eyes widen. “Sorry, I need to get back to you. I have to take this.” He brushes me off and I can hear his voice getting fainter and fainter as he walks back toward his house away from me.
Blinking at the fence in front of me, I allow my tense shoulders to slouch down.
What just happened?
Now, not only am I unplanned, I’m mad. Not the best combination. I whirl back to the house, my stride open and determined.
I need to get my meals planned for the day. I can do that. Not a problem. Easy. I can do that.
Easy.
I keep telling myself it’s easy as I walk inside and ignore Paul staring at me with judgment in the lines of his pages. I even turn my head away and lift my nose higher into the air.
If I wanted to be reprimanded, I would put those kinds of phrases at the headers of my daily spreads instead of the inspiring quotes I sprinkle amongst the sweet romantic notes I have Paul say randomly to me.
Don’t talk to me about pathetic. I know it’s pathetic. I don’t want to talk about it.
My strides carry me across the kitchen floor and into the walk-in pantry. I pause at the door and listen carefully. Good. No one is here or home yet. I can organize in here and not get interrupted.
Because that’s what I’m going to do today. Organize.
I pull a ten-gallon bucket into the center of my already extraordinarily organized pantry and study my options in front of me.
Wow, I have a lot of peanut butter. Creamy. My favorite.
And honey. I wonder if the honey has gone bad.
Rushing out to the kitchen, I grab some bowls, spoons, and some napkins and disappear back into the pantry, shutting the door behind me.
Sitting down, I use the shelving to hold the things I brought back with me. I open a peanut butter and scoop a few spoonfuls into the bowl and then recap it. Honey is next and I dump about a third of the amount that I put in of the peanut butter directly into the same bowl. Setting the honey carefully back into its storage place, I pick up the bowl and a spoon and mix and mix and mix until the creamy goodness and shiny liquid gold are completely blended together.
My first bite is slow and nervous. I don’t want to eat it all or even fast. I’m just supposed to be trying it. That’s all.
I know all of this is a lie. All of it. Honey doesn’t go bad for crying out loud. They found honey in an Egyptian tomb after two-thousand years and it was still good.
As soon as I swallow the first bite, I know I’m screwed. Why fight it?
In no time, I’ve polished off the peanut butter and honey mixture while I’m studying the rest of the contents of the pantry. Putting the bowl and spoon aside, I stand on the bucket and reach high to the top shelf where I know… Yep, there it is.
I wrap my fingers around the hidden marshmallow vanilla frosting I hid there the last time I had a binge.
Sitting, I grab one of the spoons and rip the plastic lid off. Yes! There’s even sprinkles still in the frosting to give it a little added texture.
In no time, the rest of the container is empty. I set it carefully next to the dirty peanut butter bowl. Instead of being satisfied at what I’ve already eaten, I know it’s just a matter of time before I’ve eaten a little of everything.
My palms sweat as I reach for the chocolate frosted flakes. What kind of a mother keeps sugary cereal on hand for her kids? This one apparently. And I’m glad as I pour a bowl and dig in without any milk. I don’t need milk. Milk will just slow me down.
The cereal disappears and I’m pulling out another stashed bag of Oreos. Double stuffed. The control freak part of me is crying but the rest of me continues to chew and look for more to eat.
“Try tracking all of that, yeah?” I mutter in between bites. My control left a while ago and I know it won’t come back until I have good enough incentive to stop. Usually that’s not until I fall asleep on the couch with my arm wrapped around a bowl of dip and some chips. Seriously, that has happened.
I’m not proud.
A box of granola bars – yes, an entire box – and a shoebox of Valentine’s candy later and I’m slumped forward on the bucket, working on a bag of chips and staring forlornly at the floor. There are open packages all around me and I’m a little dizzy with the influx of sugar and salts.
The door swings open and I jerk my head up, my eyes wide and round as I look at my two children staring at me with horror on their faces.
“Mom? Are you okay?” Abby blinks at me like she can’t believe what she’s seeing.
I raise my hand and turn my face away from them, careful to turn the bag with me as I shove another chip into my mouth. “Don’t look at me.” I’m ashamed, but not enough to stand and walk out of there.
A long moment of silence sits between us and I shove more chips petulantly into my mouth.
Then I gasp and flip around. “Is he here? Did you bring Knox in here with you? Oh, my word, don’t let him see me like this.” I dust at the crumbs on my shirt and down my lap. What am I going to do? I’m a mess.
Dexter shakes his head. “No. He’s not here.”
Abby steps forward, pulling me from my seat by the arm and handing me over to Dexter. “Here, get her out of here. See if you can get her planning or something. Paul is on the counter. I’ll clean this up.”
I dimly understand that my daughter is cleaning up after me, but all I can focus on in my sugar-over-dosed state is that Knox didn’t come see me or say goodbye or anything and Dexter is pulling me out of the safe cave the pantry had become.
He sits me at the table and grabs Paul and my pencil and sets them in front of me. “Here, Mom. I’ll get our calendars out.”
I nod, unable to look him in the eye. Why did my kids have to find me?
Abby cleans up the pantry, putting the garbage away and the dirty dishes in the sink before joining us at the table. We sync our calendars and schedules and they tell me about their time at the track.
No one mentions the horrific binge mess they found me in and I don’t think I have it in me to start eating again.
Chapter 12
Knox
I think it’s safe for me to speak for both Miller kids and myself when I say we’re beat down with exhaustion. But judging by the sleepy smiles on their faces, it’s a good tired.
I feel it, too, as I rest my wrist loosely on the lower curve of the steering wheel and drive back to their house.
The things Abby has said make me think that while I know Savvy isn’t with anyone else, that maybe Abby has seen things in the past that make her doubt and question everyone’s motives. I can understand that and I don’t want to add to it. When we pull up to their house, I don’t even shift into park.
Wrong Text, Right Reply: A Sweet Accidental Romance (An Accidental But Perfect Romance Book 1) Page 9
