Chapter 2

Joey

In Over My Head

It seemed like such a good idea to help my sister by watching her kids for a couple of weeks. She’s a single mom and finances are tight, so she didn’t want to hire a babysitter. Plus, I love these kids as if they are my own. I just didn’t realize how well-behaved they are in their mother’s presence and how ill-behaved they are with me.

Emma’s visit earlier was both timely and fortuitous. I kick myself for greeting her in my usual grouchy fashion. My Grumpy Gus comes out in full force whenever she’s around. The visit was timely because the minute Emma stepped into the kitchen; the chaos died down. Who knew one well-timed whistle would be so effective? The fortuitous part was that she agreed to help with the gingerbread house, although I’m still wondering if we can work together and not kill each other.

When Scott asked her to help, my first instinct was to vehemently decline. But I begrudgingly admit that making that gingerbread house intimidated me like trying to play goalie without my hockey stick. With Emma in charge, we’re sure to make something presentable, and possibly even good enough to win. My competitive spirit approves, despite our bumpy history.

Let’s just say that we’ve never hit it off. When we spend more than five minutes alone together, disaster strikes. She insults me or I insult her. Acrimonious words spout out of one or both of our mouths, rubbing each other the wrong way. We clashed when we worked together in the kitchen at a fancy gala and got into a food fight (very childish, I know). My thoughts recall the incident...

“You forgot the doily and your whipped cream looks terrible,” Emma chided. We were both preparing the desserts to be served at the end of the fancy meal.

It seemed ridiculous that each dessert glass was supposed to sit precisely in the middle of a frilly piece of paper, balanced on a little white plate. Would anyone really notice if the paper was missing? Also, those whipped cream cans are tricky and I may have been squirting a little too much on top of the chocolate mousse. The chef had requested we add “a delicate dab”—the desserts I had prepared looked more like messy globs.

Despite the truth to her words, Emma’s criticism irked me, and in the heat of the moment, I squirted the can at her, hitting her right in the face. Whipped cream dripped off her chin as she glared at me.

She waltzed over, swiped her hand in the mousse glass in my hand, and smeared the chocolate dessert all over my face. That’s when things got heated. We fought over the dessert glass, it slipped from my hand and landed on the floor with a crash!

My teammate Otto, who was in charge of the gala, rushed to the kitchen when he heard the crash. When he saw the two of us, he gave Emma and me a tongue-lashing that I’ll never forget. Neither Emma nor I have ever mentioned that embarrassing, childish food fight again...

A noise draws me back to the present. Surely, Emma and I can set aside our differences and create an award-winning gingerbread house, for the sake of my nephew—who’s very excited about the project and the prospect of winning now that Emma’s on the team.

“Uncle Joey, can you read me a bedtime story?” Katie asks, lugging one of her many story books over to the couch, pulling me from my thoughts about the beautiful baker. The kids are in their PJ’s because I insisted Katie change out of the ketchup-stained sparkly dress. We watched the movie Paddington after I cleaned up the food mess. Scott was lukewarm over the movie choice, but he enjoyed it as much as Katie and me, laughing at all the funny scenes.

“Sure, but just one story.” I learned the hard way that one story leads to two, leads to three.

She hands me the book then settles right beside me on the couch, snuggling into my chest. I love kids and can’t wait to have half a dozen of them myself. That is, if I can find “the one” to have them with. Scott pretends to ignore us as he plays a game on my iPad. My sister limits their screen time and I’ve been trying to do the same but haven’t been very successful thus far.

I start to read Goodnight Moon ; the same book Katie wanted me to read last night. It’s been so many years since my mom read us stories, all these are new to me. About two pages in, I feel Katie drift off to sleep, but I keep reading. Scott and Katie aren’t bickering, and the calm after the storm is nice. My voice drones on until I read “The End.” I pick up Katie and tuck her into bed. Scott follows without complaint.

Two nights down, twelve to go.

~*~

“I want a cupcake for breakfast,” Katie says, glaring at me and stomping her little foot. My retinas burn when I see her outfit for today. Rather than fight with her over it, I cave. She’s wearing a princess tiara, a sparkly pink T-shirt sporting the saying “Little Girl, Big Attitude”, lime green stretchy pants with a hole in the knee, and pink cowboy boots. How do they make cowboy boots so small?

I use my parental-sounding voice, “We’re having cereal. We’ll save the cupcakes for dinner.” Emma’s cupcakes were a big hit and before the kids got up this morning, I snuck one of those chocolate and caramel ones to enjoy with a cup of coffee. What Scott and Katie don’t know won’t hurt them.

Her face scrunches and I brace myself for the outburst.

“There’s Captain Crunch,” Scott says, holding up the brightly colored box. “Mom never lets us have this kind.”

“Captain Crunch!” Katie squeals in delight. She hops onto her chair, fills up a bowl, and pours the milk, spilling half of it on the table. I’m so relieved that she’s not crying her lungs out, I ignore saying anything about the spill. A couple quick swipes with the “quicker picker upper” paper towel and the spill’s history. Glad I bought this brand.

“Thanks, Buddy!” I say, giving Scott a high-five for his assist in deflecting Katie from wanting cupcakes to wanting sugary cereal. Is that really a win?

“Can I have an extra hour of screen time tonight?” Scott asks with a hopeful expression.

“Thirty minutes,” I reply magnanimously. He shrugs and keeps chomping on the sugary cereal. Maybe I need to purchase a few healthier choices?

Breakfast concludes with no other incidents. Unlike yesterday, I manage to remember both backpacks this morning as we head out to my car. When we get to the school, I join the long line of cars dropping off their kids. This is a regimented and finely tuned process. My sister even made me practice drop-off a couple times before she left, with me driving and her in the car. Who knew there were so many rules?

“Never pull up beside another car or cut in line,” Chelsea advised.

“Put down your cellphone while in line. You don’t want to appear preoccupied!”

“Move swiftly once Katie and Scott are safely on the sidewalk to the building, so the next car can pull up. But drive cautiously and always watch for kids coming out of nowhere.”

My hands sweat as I carefully mimic the other vehicles, while I try to remember all of Chelsea’s warnings. When we reach the head of the line, there’s a three second delay because I forgot to unlock the car doors. Katie and Scott manage to scramble safely from the car before the car behind me blares their horn, or worse yet, the parking attendant gives me a violation.

Whew! Relief flows through my body as I exit the school zone. I’m off to class this morning and then to hockey practice this afternoon. I’ve set three alarms on my phone, so I don’t forget to pick up the kids at 4:30pm sharp, otherwise I’ll have to pay a steep fine for every minute I’m late. Chelsea paid for after-school activities to keep the kids busy and have responsible adults watch them until I get there to pick them up.

Remembering our six o’clock appointment at the bakery makes my heart make a weird flip-flop. Am I looking forward to seeing Emma again? We usually fight like dogs and cats, but this feels different. Relationship experts say that there’s a fine line between love and hate. Have Emma and I just skated across that line of being friends and not enemies?

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