Chapter 8
Celine
Week two in Maplewood arrived like a bar brawl disguised as a Monday morning in September.
We’d survived the first week of school—a three-day week only, but I still counted it as a major victory.
So far, Ellie had forgotten to bring home all the forms she needed signed and Maggie had forgotten her glasses. But we’d made it.
I was doing it. Momming. Teaching. Living in a new place. And I was still standing.
When my alarm blared, I shut it off with a groan, then surveyed Julian, who was sitting on the floor, lining up his Lego mini figs by theme and color.
He looked calm. Too calm. That could only mean the storm was delayed. It typically took two weeks to get him into a new routine, so we were far from it, and this was his first five-day week of school.
Stella had reported that he’d been quiet and hesitant but curious so far. Which was as good an outcome as I could ask for.
“Morning, Mama,” he said, not looking up from his Legos.
“Why is Darth Vader hanging out with Iron Man?” I asked, pulling my hair back and stretching.
As much as I could use my morning run, I was too overwhelmed with getting this full school week started to take the time.
He looked up at me. “Because they both wear metal helmets,” he explained like it was obvious. Of course.
I let out a light chuckle, blinking. Coffee. Good God, I needed coffee.
“I don’t wanna go to school today,” he murmured, his head down.
“Why not?”
“It’s Monday. We have music class.”
“I know that’s not your favorite, Bud, but your headphones are in your backpack.”
He looked up, his little lips turned down. “It’s loud, and I don’t like the room. The windows are low and I can’t see the sky.”
I crouched and kissed the top of his head. “That’s annoying.” Knees popping, I stood, then headed into my bathroom to grab my toothbrush. “The good news is, the sky is still there, and music is only forty-five minutes long. And don’t you have recess after?”
He muttered something unintelligible.
“And isn’t Monday gaga day?” I stood in the doorway, toothbrush held aloft.
He picked his head up and smiled. “Yes. I forgot. First grade gets the gaga pit on Mondays.”
“See? Lots to look forward to. Now go get dressed.”
Down the hall, Maggie was already singing enthusiastically. Ellie was probably still asleep. Knowing I’d have to face her soon, I took a two-minute shower. Then I brushed my hair. A layer of tinted moisturizer and mascara completed my supersonic morning routine.
Julian, God bless him, had dressed and brushed his teeth. The visual calendar we’d hung on his wall was a game changer.
“I’ll fill the water bottles,” he chirped. “I’m not waking up Ellie.”
With a fake pout, I agreed, but when his little feet pattered down the stairs, I couldn’t help but smile.
While Julian was up at five thirty every day, Ellie was a tween and therefore believed that waking up before ten a.m. was a war crime.
“Mom, can you do a French braid today?” Maggie stepped out of her room wearing turquoise bike shorts, an oversized yellow T-shirt, at least four necklaces, and a big morning smile.
I pulled her in for a side hug. “Morning, luvie. We might have braiding time, but if you’ve already brushed your teeth, I need you to make the coffee.”
“On it.”
The door to the girls’ room was wide open and the lights were on. Maggie’s bed was already haphazardly made, but Ellie was buried under a mountain of blankets.
“Ellie belly,” I singsonged. “Time to wake up.”
“Ughbsr,” she moaned.
“I know you’re awake,” I murmured. “How could you not be after twenty full minutes of Maggie’s scream singing?”
“It’s the worst,” she grumbled.
“No. Mondays are the worst.” I grasped the edge of the blankets and swiped them off her in one quick motion.
“Mom,” she moaned, pawing at the air like an annoyed kitten.
“We’ve got twenty minutes. Move it, lady,” I said, heading for the door.
Maggie had gotten the coffee maker going and had found the cereal, so that was a start.
I filled my mug and burned my tongue twice, though I counted it was a win, hoping it meant I could drink half of this cup before it got cold.
Somehow, through sheer force of will and mild bribery, I got all three kids fed and out the door with two minutes to spare. Yes, Maggie had one shoe on and the other in her hand, and I’d had to use Ellie’s full name twice before she put her damn binder in her backpack, but it was progress.
We spilled into the driveway in a blur of backpacks and complaints as I took a sip of now tepid coffee.
As the kids were scrambling toward the van, a dark blur caught my eye. Just past the rear door, Wayne sat.
Julian saw him a second later, darting for him and burying his hand in his fur, the two of them staring at one another with deep mutual devotion.
“Wayne likes mornings,” he’s said. “He’s an early owl like me. Not like Ellie. She’s a night owl.”
“I’m sure he does.” Inhaling deeply, I scanned the property for Wayne’s owner.
We’d managed to politely avoid each other for the past few days, and it had been blissful. It turned out living on this farm was lovely when one never had to see the grumpy farmer.
“Tell him goodbye,” I said firmly. “Wayne would not want you to be late for school.”
Wayne’s tail thumped happily against the gravel drive.
Maggie hopped out of the van’s sliding door and threw her arms around him. “You might not be a horse,” she said into his fur, “but I still love you.”
“Guys,” I barked. “Car. Now.”
Julian gave Wayne a forlorn look, then climbed in.
Rather than trotting off, Wayne stayed perfectly still, watching our vehicle. Unwilling to move an inch.
Sighing, I pulled out my phone and navigated to Josh’s contact info.
Celine
Come get your wolf dog, he’s blocking my car and we’ll be late for school.
The reply came faster than I expected.
Josh
Just go around him.
I stared at the response that came in unreasonably quickly. This fucking guy.
Celine
I’m not playing chicken with a 150 pound dog.
Josh
He only weighs 130 pounds. Please don’t give him a complex. He’s lovable at any size.
Huffing, I rolled my eyes.
Josh
He probably just wants a proper goodbye.
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I resisted the urge to throw my phone.
“Ellie,” I said, my tone a little too short, “say goodbye to the dog.”
With far less arguing than I expected, Ellie hopped out of the passenger seat. But she took her sweet-ass time wandering over and scratching his ears.
“We’ve got to go to school,” she told him, standard tween sarcasm dripping from each word, “but if you move, we can throw the tennis ball later. I don’t want my mom to blow a gasket again.”
In response, Wayne turned his head and looked at me.
With a shrug, Ellie got back in the car. But the dog remained where he was, attention still set on me.
“Oh fuck it.” I scurried over and bent down, scratching his ears. “You’re a good boy,” I said. “Now get out of here so I can drive these animals to school.”
I stood, half annoyed and half flattered that he was watching me with a dopey look on his face.
Then, instead of trotting off like I was certain he’d finally do, the damn dog jumped up on his hind legs, standing taller than I was, and licked my face.
I took a step back, screaming, while the kids burst into laughter.
Body tense and hands clenched, I surveyed myself. Dammit. I had a pawprint on my boob and my face was damp with dog drool.
Jesus Christ.
Wayne must have been satisfied after making it to second base because he trotted away happily.
We rolled slowly past the barn and the farmhouse, where, shocker, Josh was standing, beefy arms crossed, watching us, with Wayne sitting happily by his side, like he hadn’t just licked off my mascara.
The joke was on him. I bought the cheap stuff.
My kids lowered their windows to wave, and I slowed further, lowering my own.
Josh’s sleeves were rolled up, and he had that damn worn hat on backward. Bastard.
“Control you dog,” I said.
“He’s just friendly.” His lips quirked a fraction.
I pulled my head back in and examined myself in the rearview mirror to make sure I didn’t have any dog drool left on my face.
“That’s what they say about serial killers,” I quipped.
“He’s easy,” came his response. “Just bribe him with bacon.”
“I’m sorry,” I hissed. “I don’t carry bacon on my person.”
He gave me a solemn nod. “Rookie mistake, Matchstick.”
As the kids laughed hysterically, I rolled up my window, sufficiently humbled for the morning.
As I hustled to my classroom, chugging the last of my now cold coffee, my phone buzzed.
Josh
He likes Julian. Doesn’t happen often. Wayne’s not a people person.
I hesitated, rereading the message, and then typed back.
Celine
Could have fooled me. The damn dog jumped on me and licked my face. And that was after demanding hugs and kisses from all three of my kids.
Josh
No way. I spent years training him. He never jumps on people.
Celine
Wanna bet? I’ve got a paw print on my left boob to prove it.
Celine
How’s it feel to know your dog’s getting more action than you are?
The second I hit Send, I regretted it. What the hell, Celine? I didn’t know the first thing about Josh’s actions, and it definitely wasn’t my business. And if the teacher chatter and common goddamn sense were any indication, he did not struggle in that department.
Josh
I’m man enough to admit I’m jealous. But I’m also impressed by Wayne’s game. He’s getting extra bacon today.
The bell rang, startling me, and I put my phone on silent and stashed it in my top drawer just as the screaming of far too many children echoed down the hallway.
I was annoyed by my landlord. But my body felt lighter. Something that had been happening little by little for the last several days.
Not because life was suddenly easy, but because things were working. The four of us were almost thriving. And that felt like a small miracle.