10. Chapter Ten
Chapter Te n
Automobiles are not an advisable mode of transportation for children.
A Young Woman’s Guide to Raising Obedient Children
Dr. Francine Pascal Reid, (1943)
I haven’t been on a plane since last year when we took the kids to Disneyland. That had been a bit of an adventure. J.B. got pulled out of line and searched for drugs, Sophie threw up while we were waiting in line to check in and Lucy and Ben both threw up during the flight–several times–with Sophie crying for them, because neither of them could keep their heads out of the air sickness bags.
I remember how the rest of the passengers had let us off the plane first. I heard the collective sigh of relief as we carried the kids off. I didn’t let myself cry then, even though I really wanted to .
But as the plane levels off, leaving the early morning lights of Toronto behind, I have to admit I shed a few tears. A few days away will be a good thing for me. The kids will be all right with J.B. They’ll have a great time with him. And a few days away from all my kids–not only my own but my kindergarten class–will help. I love being a teacher, but a couple of days to recharge my batteries is exactly what the doctor ordered.
I see the back of Harold’s head a few rows ahead of me and smile at the memory of the shock on his face. That gets rid of the tears.
*
The five-hour flight literally flies by. I catch a quick nap, the movie is one I haven’t seen and my seatmates are just the right amount of chatty, telling me about their previous trips to Las Vegas and things to do. The flight attendants keep the coffee coming. By the time I step out of the airport, I’m full of excitement and caffeine.
In the taxi, my eyes practically bug out of my head when I catch sight of the legendary Strip. Las Vegas–I’d seen pictures but never imagined it would be like this . Barely eight am on a Thursday morning and already the sidewalks are as congested as the streets of Toronto during the Friday afternoon exodus to cottage country.
″Oh my god,” I breathe, loud enough for the cab driver to hear.
″First time here?” he asks.
″How can you tell?” I laugh, unable to stop gazing out the window. The morning sun dims the lights from the hotels, but it’s still dazzling to my eyes.
I pull out my phone again, taking a video of the people, the cars, everything and send it to J.B. to show the kids. I take in as much as I can before the taxi drops me in front of the Cosmopolitan Hotel and Resort.
Slowly the heavy weight of leaving the kids is disappearing .
″Have fun!” the driver calls before I slam the door behind me.
As I cross the marble floor of the lobby, heading to the concierge desk, I realize I must look like the kids did when they first saw the characters at Disney. Sophie squealed with excitement as she hugged Tigger; Ben’s eyes were huge with awe as Mickey shook his hand, and Lucy hid behind me, afraid to go near the Little Mermaid.
I have a mixture of all of those emotions.
″Good morning,” the girl at the desk sings as I stop before the desk. “Welcome to the Cosmopolitan Hotel and Resort.”
She’s a perky one. But I fix the smile on my face even though perky people often make me cringe, especially early in the morning. “Hi. I just got here from Toronto. I’m meeting my friends later, but I got an earlier flight–” I stop myself before I give the girl the full story. “When would I be able to check in?”
Perky or not, Ashleigh is helpful, promising me I can get into my room by eleven thirty rather than the usual three o’clock, and stores my bags for me.
And then I head out to the Strip, feeling exhilarated as I merge into the packed sidewalk with a need to see everything.
For the first time, I’m glad I left the kids at home because I’d be petrified that I’d lose them in the crowd.
I walk the length of The Strip, hitting ten thousand steps on my Fitbit in no time. I find Circus Circus at the north end, lingering outside as I think how much fun the kids would have in Adventuredome, the indoor park.
I shop, picking up a bag of souvenirs for the kids, including a toy slot machine that shoots out candy instead of quarters. I find purple-and-yellow scarves for Brit and Morgan, cheap and tacky but a perfect memento of our weekend together. I stop for more coffee and swap my heeled boots that I didn’t want to pack for a pair of cute red TOMS so my feet won’t rebel.
For the first time in six years, I have fun being by myself. The kids are fine, and even though they pop into my mind at regular intervals, I don’t worry. There’s no one calling my name, trailing me to the bathroom; there’s no need to ask if anyone needs a washroom or a snack. I stop when I have to pee or if I’m hungry.
This is freedom for a mother and I enjoy it.
But I tire after a few hours and head back to the Cosmopolitan.
Brit booked us a two-room suite, with king-size beds and a terrace with a view of the Bellagio fountains. I spend long minutes hanging over the railing and watching the water rise and fall before I explore the place.
The bathroom alone is huge, with a Japanese soaking tub and a rain shower stall, thick towels and the softest toilet paper I’ve ever experienced. The minibar is stocked full of drinks, snacks and countless tiny bottles of alcohol and wine–
And the bed...
The bed looks like an island paradise after being shipwrecked. I don’t take off my shoes before I take a running leap. Then I get up and strip off my shoes and pants and shirt and crawl back under the covers. It feels like I’ve been up for an entire day.
I do the calculations in my head. I’ve been awake long enough for a nap. In no time at all, I drift off to sleep, nestled among the cool sheets and fluffy duvet.
The nap was nice, but what isn’t nice is that I forget to turn down my phone. The insistent sound of a baby crying yanks me out of sleep.
The kids are crying !
And then I realize it’s just my phone and the stupid ring tone J.B. put on, knowing that the sound of a baby crying would instantly get my attention, no matter what I was doing.
I find it on the bed beside me. “Hello?”
″GOOOAAALLL!”
My eyes blink open at the chorus of little voices. “Hello?” I ask, my voice still sleep-clogged.
″Momma, Benny got a goal! A GOAL!” It’s Sophie’s little voice, yelling to be heard over Lucy and Ben’s.
″He got a goal?”
″His first goal ever and I helped him! I set it up perfectly and he kicked it in and it looked like the goaltender was going to stop it, but he didn’t and Benny scored!”
It warms my heart that Sophie is more excited for her brother than she had been when she got her first goal last year. Then my heart breaks when I realize Ben got a milestone and I wasn’t there to see it.
″That’s so great!” I heap every ounce of enthusiasm into my tone; hopefully, Sophie won’t hear the sleepiness in my voice or sense the fat tears filling my eyes.
″Here’s Benny.” Distant voices and then Sophie’s strident tone. “Just put her on speaker!”
″Ben?”
″Hi, Momma!”
″I’m so proud of you, sweetie! Your first goal. So great!”
By the time I’ve spoken to the three of them and got the highlights of the soccer game repeated several times, I’ve managed to wake up enough to mask the tears in my voice.
I missed his first goal.
″Are you having fun, Momma?” Ben asks finally. “Have you seen Elvis yet? Daddy told us the place is full of Elvises and quarters falling on the ground.”
″Pick up the quarters for us, Momma!” Lucy cries in the background.
″I will,” I promise, fighting back the tears. “All the quarters I find. And I’ll take a picture of Elvis for you, Ben.” How do they even know who Elvis is? What’s J.B. been telling them?
I finally hear J.B.‘s voice over the kids’. “Say bye to Momma now, and go get your snack before it’s all gone,” he orders.
″Bye Momma!” they chorus.
″Have lots and lots and lots of fun,” Lucy chimes in.
″Don’t miss us too much because we’re good with Daddy,” Ben assures me.
″But miss us enough to come home,” Sophie adds.
And then they’re gone, their little voices disappearing into the distance. I picture them running off to join the throng around whatever parent had brought snacks that week.
It was Lisa so it’d be a good snack for them.
″Casey?”
″Take me off speakerphone,” I beg.
″How’s it going? Are you having fun?”
″No, I’m not having fun!” I burst. “You made me come here, and Ben scored his first goal and I missed it. Did you get a picture? A video of it.”
″Nita got a video of the whole game. I’ll get it from her. It was a great shot, Case; you’d be proud of him.”
″Of course I’m proud of him! I want to be there to see it, not here in a hotel room with a really comfortable bed.”
″Are you crying? ”
″No!” But the sob escapes in a laugh/cough sound.
″There’ll be other goals,” J.B. assures me, sounding so tender that I have to choke back another sob.
″He’s been playing for two years and this is the first! What if it’s the only one? And I missed it because I took a selfish trip away from them. I want to come home.”
″Casey…”
″I mean it. I’m going to get the first flight home. With the time difference, I think I can make it before they go to bed.”
″Stop it, Casey. You’re there to have fun. There’ll be other games. The kids are fine. You need this.”
″I need to be with them.”
″You need some time with your friends. If you try to book another flight, I’m canceling your credit card.”
″You’re what?”
″You’re not coming home early. Stay. Have fun. What time do Brit and Morgan get in?”
″Soon.” I glance at the clock radio on the bedside table. I slept for almost three hours. Brit and Morgan’s flight will get in at six.
″You should go meet them at the airport. Take them a big drink.”
″I don’t think I can take alcohol through the airport,” I sniff.
″This is Brit’s party, and hopefully her last one. Make it fun for her. If you sit around missing the kids, you’ll never hear the end of it.”
″Maybe,” I sulk.
″She’s your oldest friend, and she’s getting married. Don’t be sad, Case. You’re there–have fun. Have a great time.”
″I can’t.”
″You can, and you will. Promise me no more pity party?” When I don’t answer, his voice grows louder. “Promise me you’ll have fun!”
″I promise,” I reluctantly say.
″I love you.”
″I hate you for making me come here,” I growl. “But I love you too.”