Unexpectingly Happily Ever After

2. Chapter Two

Chapter Tw o

Having a calm and serene mother makes it easy to raise a sweet, docile daughter.

A Young Woman’s Guide to Raising Obedient Children

Dr. Francine Pascal Reid, (1943)

“ I t’s bullshit. Utter bullshit. Can you believe that guy?” Even an hour later, I’m still shaking my head over the cashier. He refused to serve me– me , who used to work in a wine store and who the Ontario wineries owe a debt of gratitude for how much I drink.

I stand with two other mothers, as far away as we can be and still see the action, which involves one of two of the players running and kicking the ball, while the remainder of the teams chases behind them.

Nita shakes her head. I always hang out with Nita and Lisa at the soccer games. Our kids are about the same skill level–about mid-range. I got tired of standing with the mothers of the kids who should be looking forward to tryouts for Toronto FC.

This is Toronto; there are some really good soccer players, even at this age.

″I’ve never even heard that rule,” Nita says, clapping her hands as her son kicks the ball.

″It’s a good rule,” I concede. “But they’re six . It’s not like they were going to walk out with a bottle. Actually, I wouldn’t put it past Sophie.”

″They must have looked so cute, each with their own bottle,” Lisa smiles. “Would they have made a fuss if you only had bought one bottle?”

″World War Three,” I sigh. “It’s not like it was going to go to waste. I’m meeting my girlfriends tonight, so that would have taken care of a bottle. Or maybe two.”

″So J.B. is home tonight with the kids?” Nita asks, trying to act casual and failing miserably. “Is he coming to the game?”

My friend Nita, mother of Ben’s best soccer friend, Tanner, has a thumping big crush on my husband.

J.B. says it’s flattering. I’m fine with it. I kind of have to be since I have a teensy little crush on someone myself.

″Casey doesn’t Dirk look amazing in those shorts,” Lisa murmurs. Dirk is the twenty-five-year-old coach of the kids’ team. A soccer player himself, Dirk has a great rapport with the kids and an even better one with the parents since all the mothers are too busy ogling his calves and thighs to bother complaining about the lack of playing their darlings receive.

Since I’ve become a mother, I can’t help but notice some parents can be really annoying.

″Lovely,” I murmur to Lisa before answering Nita. “And no, J.B. is at work, but he’ll come home early. I’ve got a babysitter.” I do a little dance to show my excitement.

″Lucky,” Lisa sighs. “I can’t seem to keep a babysitter. I find someone to watch Angelique for a night, but they’re always too busy when I call again.”

I don’t respond. I like Lisa a lot, but I’ve had Angelique over for a play date and there would be no way I would ever agree to babysit her. There are still fingernail marks on the doorframe from where she tried to climb it.

″Doesn’t J.B. ever get time off to come to the games?” Nita wonders.

How I deal with my husband’s schedule is a mystery to most people. J.B. is the co-owner of Thrice restaurant, which means he works most nights. But since he owns it with our best friend Cooper, it makes it more manageable. Both of them work long hours, sometimes even twelve-hour days, but can always count on each other when they need time off.

J.B.’s time with the kids is in the mornings. He’s in charge of dressing, feeding, and getting them to school, a bonus for me because I’m not much of a morning person. While he amuses the kids, I’m able to get ready for work.

″He’ll come to the tournament,” I say to Nita. I don’t tell her that while J.B. loves to see the kids play, most of the other parents annoy the poop out of him.

″They’re always trying to get reservations and free meals,” J.B. had complained the last time he came to a game. “And their kids suck at soccer, so they should stop pretending they’re going to be the next Lionel Messi.”

″It’s hard for him to get a whole night off,” I continue. “Especially when Cooper–”

″Casey!” Lisa interrupts, pointing to the field. “Ben just fell.”

″He didn’t fall; that kid tackled him!” Nita exclaims, following me onto the field. Dirk is already running over to where Lucy is helping her brother to his feet.

″Where’s Sophie?” I call with dismay. If Lucy is with Ben that means–

My second youngest triplet marches out from where she had been sitting on the sidelines, her curly, red pigtails bouncing with every step. The rest of the team follows her like she’s the Pied Piper.

Her face is like a thundercloud.

″Sophie, don’t!” I cry, but either she doesn’t hear me or chooses to ignore me because she breaks into a run.

″Don’t you ever hurt my brother!” she screams, making a beeline to the towheaded little brat who’s laughing at the sight of poor Ben on the ground.

Sophie runs straight to the kid and drills a fist into his stomach.

″Oh no,” I groan.

″Whose child is that?” The voice screeches across the soccer field, still dotted with the brightly coloured jerseys of the kids. “Whose daughter just did that to my son?”

The woman, all Lycra’ed out in a matching Lululemon running suit, strides onto the field and grabs Sophie’s arm.

Grabs my daughter’s arm.

I break into a run.

″Casey…don’t,” I hear Nita call after me.

″Get your hands off my daughter,” I cry as I cross the field.

Ms. Lycra looks up with evil eyes. “Your daughter physically assaulted my son.” She keeps a grip on Sophie, who looks ready to burst into tears at the manhandling. The “assaulted” boy rolls on the ground, holding his stomach.

With a visible smirk on his face.

″Your son physically attacked my son,” I point out as Ben rushes to my side. “This is a non-contact sport if you hadn’t noticed. Plus, they’re six years old! Who teaches their kid to tackle at that age?”

The coach of the other team steps up to me, along with Dirk. “Just calm down now.”

I glance at the coach, to the woman still holding my child. “He’s your kid, isn’t he? Tell your wife to get her hands off my daughter before I come over there and make her.”

Lycra throws back her head in shock but releases Sophie who runs not to me, but to Ben. Lucy joins them.

″You should learn to control your children,” the woman says, sounding as snotty as she looks. “Or don’t have that many of them.”

″You b–”

Dirk’s hand on my shoulder is the only thing that stops me from demonstrating to both teams just how to make a proper tackle. “Casey,” he warns. “Not a good idea in front of the kids.”

I take a deep breath, then another. Conscious of the crowd thronged around me, I crouch in front of Ben. “Bennie, are you okay?”

His face is tear-stained, but he nods. I drop a kiss on his head and take his little hand in mine. “Sophie,” I say in a firm voice. “Apologize to the boy for hitting him. You shouldn’t have done that.”

″But Momma, he hurt Ben…”

″He made him cry,” Lucy chimes in.

My heart fills with pride at how they defend each other, but I don’t let on yet.

″He did hurt your brother, and that’s something he’ll have to live with. I need you to apologize for hitting him, Sophie.”

″That’s all?” Lycra’s expression is one of incredulousness. “That’s how you’re going to fix this?”

″It’s a start, and it’s better than what your hooligan of a son is doing,” I snap back. I soften my voice. “Sophie.”

″I’m sorry for hitting you,” she says in a sullen voice.

I squeeze her hand and glance at Dirk, who looks unsure of what to do next.

″Such behaviour.” A grandmotherly woman gasped. I’m not sure what team she’s rooting for. “And from a little girl.”

″That’s what happens when you let girls play with the boys,” reprimands her partner.

Most of the women in the crowd, me included, turn and glare at him.

″She should get suspended from the league,” booms a voice from the opposite team.

″She’s six ,” I hear Lisa from behind me.

″And the kid hurt her brother,” Nita adds. “Game over if you ask me.”

We look at Dirk. “That’s probably a good idea,” he says uneasily.

″Why?” Lycra sneers. “Your little girls afraid of what happens when they try and take out our best player?”

I can’t believe this woman. “Yes,” I say emphatically. “But I think you should worry what’s going to happen if you or your kid ever lays a hand on one of my children again.” I turn to Dirk. “I’m going to go now.”

With that, I stalk to the car holding Sophie and Ben by the hands, with Lucy tucked up beside her sister.

″I would have hit the kid, but she got there first,” Lucy said sullenly. I glance at her with surprise. I had no idea that she was so bloodthirsty. Sophie, yes, but Lucy is usually less aggressive than her sister .

″You can hit him next time,” Sophie tells her sister proudly.

″He tackled me , so I should be the one to hit him.” That is from Ben, never wanting to be left out of the sister bond.

″Nobody should hit anyone.” I sigh.

″I didn’t mean to cause a fuss,” Ben says in a voice so low I have to bend to hear it.

″This is not your fault!”

″No, it’s mine.”

I flip to Sophie’s sad face. “No, it’s that snot-nosed little brat who thought he could take out one of my kids. Doesn’t he know the wrath of the Bergen trips?”

″And their Momma,” Lucy giggles. “You were really mad at that lady.”

″Damn straight. Darn. I didn’t mean damn. Darn straight.” Try as hard as I might, I can’t seem to stop the swearing in front of the kids.

″But why did you make me say sorry that I hit him?” Sophie wonders. “I’m not sorry.”

We reach the car and I wait until all three are inside, tumbling into car seats, scrambling for seatbelts. I wait until they face me, two sets of identical brown eyes and one with blue and hazel. All three are wearing different expressions–sad, curious and faintly resentful. They’re not identical but the similar features make no question that they belong together. All of them have part of me, whether it’s Sophie’s chin, Lucy’s freckles along her cheeks along with my mixed eye colour, or the downturn of Ben’s mouth.

They have part of J.B. as well, but I like to focus on the parts of me . After all, I’m the one who carried all three of them at once, making me as big and cumbersome as a manatee out of the water.

Then I take yet another deep breath, knowing I’m probably breaking most of the good parenting rules. “I’m not sorry you hit him either. But don’t tell anyone that. I love how the three of you defend each other and hope you never stop.”

″So it’s okay that I hit him?” Sophie asks with a confused tilt to her red head.

″No. It’s never okay to hit someone.” At least I got that part of the parent code right. “But if you do, make sure you don’t get caught.”