3. Fia
Fia
The big paddle fans provide a nice break from the muggy air as I step onto the covered porch. Luanne’s gray-streaked hair sits in a bun on top of her head due to the heat. Daisy bounces on Luanne’s legs when she sees me, and immediately I sigh to myself—she is in her backup outfit.
Luanne stands from the rocking chair, handing me my little troublemaker. “I’m so sorry. We had a little lunchtime accident today, and I had to change her . . .”
“No problem.” I reach for the diaper bag. “It’s laundry day anyway!”
Because every day is laundry day with a toddler.
Luanne’s pensive eyes don’t stop tracking me as I place Daisy into her stroller. Luckily my toddler doesn’t fight me on it—I have no energy for that today.
“Here you go, honey. I made pasta salad today. Should be enough for tomorrow’s lunch too!” She hands me a glass casserole dish, and I slide it under the stroller. At least twice a week she sends me home with dinner, delicious baked goods, or a new outfit she picked up for my daughter.
My throat tightens. “Thank you.” I smile at her, avoiding eye contact.
“How’s work going?” She crosses her arms. “They working you too much, honey?”
Luanne always knows when something is off with me.
I choke back a sarcastic laugh. Even if I wanted to take a day off, it’s not like I could afford to. Actually, I should probably ask for more hours . . .
I force a smile. “Oh, it’s good, just very busy. You know the summers, all the tourists.” I roll my eyes, pushing my long bangs off my face, and sigh.
Any other day, I’d stay and chat, accepting an iced glass of sweet tea. Luanne’s a good listener, but today, I just want to go and cry in the privacy of my own home.
She waves sweetly at Daisy, who grins from her stroller, perched on the edge like we’re about to go on a big adventure. “Okay, sweetie, well you two have a good evening, and I’ll see you tomorrow!”
Who knows, we may be returning to our very own water park.
As we walk a few blocks home through one of Wilmington’s historic neighborhoods—full of stately Victorians and turn-of-the-century cottages—I peer up at the blue sky and sunshine, two things that usually make me happy.
Even with fair skin and red hair, I’ve always loved the sun . . . more than it loves me.
“See the cardinal?” I point to the red bird in the tree, but Daisy doesn’t look up. She’s already sticky with sweat.
The moment we round the corner and I see our home, my stomach sinks. It’s not lost on me how fortunate I am to have a whole big house to myself, but like my sister, Penny, loves to remind me, great things come with great responsibility.
She’s honestly become like an overlord since being promoted to Auntie Penny.
My phone rings.
It’s my sister’s face on the screen, smiling in fresh lip gloss.
“Speak of the devil,” I mutter as I push the stroller up the bumpy stone path through the front yard, stopping at the base of the porch steps. “It’s your auntie,” I tell Daisy, who’s attempting to pull her bow out of her hair, turning pink with frustration.
I accept Penny’s call, knowing if I don’t, she’ll just call back. I pull Daisy out of the stroller and walk towards the front door.
“Hey! I wanted to see if you had plans this weekend.” My sister jumps right to the chase as I nudge open the door with my shoulder and set Daisy down in the foyer. She starts crawling at the speed of light towards Hamburger.
I kick the front door shut and run after Daisy, racking my brain about this weekend.
“Uhm . . . I think I’m free . . .”
What day is it again?
“Daisy, no! Drop Hamburger’s tail!” I screech, prying her little fingers open as the cat presses his ears to his head, obviously considering biting. Daisy starts crying immediately—a shriek that makes me wince.
“Oh no, what’s wrong with my angel?” Penny coos and I pinch the bridge of my nose.
“I wouldn’t let her bite the cat and she’s angry.”
“She is so funny.” Penny laughs and I glance at Daisy, who has crocodile tears. I hand her my keys, and she forgets all about being upset.
“Yep—” I scan the messy kitchen. Shit, I forgot the pasta salad in the stroller outside.
“Are you okay?” Penny asks and I bark a laugh.
“Fine, it’s just been a day,” I reply quickly. My chest grows tight as I briskly pick Daisy up and jog outside to grab my dinner.
“I hear you. Like I was saying, it’s been three weeks since we had a family dinner, and I miss you two. Would Saturday work for you?”
Daisy yanks on my gold hoop earring, and I yelp. The people on the sidewalk snap their gazes my way, but I ignore them, rushing back inside.
“Okay, Saturday works,” I reply mindlessly, dropping Daisy into her playpen in the living room. She starts to cry, chubby hands clasped around the padded rail. Hamburger watches from his perch on the back of the sofa, judging my mothering skills.
“Great! I’ll text Danny,” Penny responds, oblivious to the chaos stirring on the other end of the phone. “We’ll all come over at, like, four?”
“No!” I reply so sharpy, even Daisy snaps out of her fit for a moment. “Sorry, it’s chaos this week, and I haven’t had time to clean the house.” I bite down on my fist as I think of the pots lining the upstairs hallway. “Let’s do your house this time.”
I wait with bated breath.
“It’s going to be a tight squeeze . . .” Penny replies.
My sister bought a little beach cottage in Wrightsville Beach right before Daisy was born. Impeccable timing—since she’s made it her life mission to co-parent. Must be an eldest daughter thing.
“We don’t mind.” My voice is so bright, even I don’t buy it.
“Okay, we’ll make it work then. See you Saturday!” She hangs up before I can get in another word.
I drag my feet over to the sofa, drop my phone, and fling myself into the cushions. Daisy stands in her playpen, watching me. I turn my head and offer her a tired smile.
“Can you please relax for Mommy for just one day?” I ask her as Hamburger leaps onto my chest, nuzzling his furry face into my chin.
“Alright, Hammy, you’ve had all day to figure this out. How are we going to come up with nineteen thousand dollars?”
He jumps onto the coffee table, knocking a stack of Nan’s milk-glass coasters to the ground with a thud. Daisy claps, laughing.
My phone buzzes loudly again, and I lazily lift one arm, feeling around on the couch for it, too damn tired to move my body.
Severe thunderstorm warning tonight.
Lovely.
Reluctantly, I sit up, puffing out a large breath, mustering the energy to finish out the day.
“Well, here we go again, Nan,” I laugh, talking aloud to my deceased grandmother. If she can hear me. I twist my hair into a bun high on my head, my neck sticky with sweat, and push off the sofa.
Daisy is momentarily occupied, so I take advantage of the rare opportunity to get something done by grabbing a few more pots from the kitchen and hauling them up the large oak staircase to the second floor, in preparation for tonight.
One of the light bulbs above the sink flickers, then goes out with a pop. Blinking twice, I wait for the rest to go out, but they don’t. I sigh and turn the bathtub knob anyway. I’ve been looking forward to me-time all day long.
After stirring a fizzy bath bomb in the hot water, I barely have enough energy left to unclothe myself. My head drops into my hands, my throat tight with the threat of tears.
But then the door creaks open and in comes my cat, rubbing against my legs, purring aggressively. His brown and black striped fur is sticky and pink. Probably something from Daisy’s dinner.
“Buddy, didn’t I already feed you?” I ask, scratching behind his tiny ear. Hamburger jumps onto the toilet seat to get closer to me, nuzzling my open palm. He is strong for a small alley cat who was living on the streets only six months ago.
“What the hell are we going to do?” I sniff. “Maybe we should get a few more quotes? Maybe I can call the bank, see if I can get a loan . . .”
He meows.
“Fine, I’ll bathe, then we can eat cheese puffs in bed together. Just tonight, though. We cannot make a habit of it. Again. Tomorrow I’ll figure things out,” I assure him, and myself.
On autopilot, I strip off my clothes and sink into the clawfoot tub, and then the thunder booms, shaking the old house.
Hamburger darts out the bathroom, hitting open the solid wood door.
It ricochets off the hallway wall, and I hold my breath, listening for a wail from Daisy’s room, but it doesn’t come.
But then the remaining vanity bulb flickers twice, dying, leaving me in ink-black darkness in the yellow-painted bathroom.
Rain begins hitting the roof seconds later, and shortly after I hear the plinking of water against metal pots.