Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
“Mom!” Lucas shouted. “Dude. I’m gonna be late.”
Shit. Shit. Shit.
Two weeks into the school year and it was me who was going to make my son late for school.
“Coming!” I yelled from inside my closet.
Where was my damn shoe?
I looked at the black ballet flat in my hand, gave up the ghost of finding its match, and tossed it back into the pile of shoes on the floor and spied a pair of flip-flops. Not exactly my preferred footwear for a meeting with a new client, but it was better than going barefoot.
I dipped into the extra bedroom I was slowly making into my office to grab my good-luck Coach portfolio bag—a graduation present from Zoe—and I did what I always do when a memory of my best friend hit, and let the pain of losing her mingle with the gratefulness I felt for having her in my life.
That time was too short—way too damn short.
God, I missed my soul sister.
By the time I made it into the living room, Lucas was already waiting for me by the front door.
“Ready?” I asked, for no other reason than it was a mom-thing to ask.
Clearly, my son was way more organized than I was in the mornings.
I tried to remember when my baby boy, who had needed me every second of every day, had morphed into a little boy who needed me less and less, then had changed yet again into an independent boy who needed me very little.
I no longer had to help him in the bath.
There was no laying out his clothes for the day.
No more packing his backpack and setting it by the front door.
And when was the last time I’d packed his lunch for him?
I couldn’t even remember the last time I’d washed his hair or loaded his toothbrush up with blue sparkly paste so he’d brush his teeth without a fight.
Thankfully, before I could go too far down the rabbit hole of the melancholy thoughts of a mother losing her baby to time, Lucas gave me his pre-pre-teen answer, “Dude.”
“We don’t have time for me to explain that ‘dude’ isn’t an answer to every question,” I told him, because that’s what a good mom was supposed to do, even though I found his ‘dudes’ funny and so very him. “Out the door, let’s get this show on the road.”
Lucas looked at me and shook his head. “Purse?”
Shit. Shit. Shit.
“Right. You. Out to the car, I’ll meet you there.”
“Maybe now’s not the time for you to give up coffee,” he surmised.
The kid wasn’t wrong, but my copious consumption of caffeine was becoming a problem.
“I’ll get a latte after I drop you off.”
Because, yeah, I was going to an important meeting, and I needed to be on my A-game.
I’d try quitting again tomorrow. Or next week.
“Will you remember?”
I snatched my purse off the couch where I had set it down before I went in search of shoes and turned back to Lucas, who was still standing by the door.
“You’re not moving,” I noted.
“I’m just making sure you actually make it out the door.”
“Smarty pants.”
That earned me an eye roll, the kind that only a ten-year-old could pull off—full of over-the-top drama.
Without further incident, we were in the car on our way, and I was running down my day in my head when Lucas broke the silence. “You know you’re gonna nail your presentation.”
“What?”
“Your pitch,” he clarified. “You shouldn’t be nervous, you worked really hard on it. You’re gonna do great. They’d be dumb not to hire you.”
Sweet mother of baby Jesus, my kid was the best.
The absolute best.
“I don’t know what I did to get so lucky to have you as my son, but I’m grateful.”
“Jeez, Mom, you don’t have to get mushy about it.”
I smiled at the windshield and proceeded to get mushier. “You’re a good kid. I don’t know what I would do without you.”
“Forget your purse?”
“Probably.”
“Live a sad, boring life without the gooey, yummy goodness of Chocolate Chip Lovers cookies.”
That was oddly specific.
“I take it that’s your hint for me to swing by the store and pick up some cookie dough.”
“I wouldn’t say no to some after-school gooey, yummy goodness. Besides, we’ll need a treat to celebrate you landing a new account.”
There was no doubt, Lucas wanted cookies.
But there was truth in what he said about celebrating.
That lesson had come from his Aunt Zoe. It was something she’d done since I’d first met her—scored high on a test, celebrate.
Cleaned her apartment all in one afternoon—celebrate.
Got all of her homework done on top of working for an entire week—celebrate.
Graduation—big celebration. My first ‘real’ job, her internship, the day I found out I was pregnant, when Lucas was born, when she met Julian. The list went on and on.
“You have to celebrate your wins, hot stuff. Not just the big stuff. Wins are wins. And the small stuff is where it’s at.”
Damn, I missed my friend.
I also needed to remember to continue teaching my son what Zoe had started.
“Gooey, yummy goodness straight out of the oven. And what about a celebration pizza for dinner?”
“Only if I get pineapple on my half.”
Gross.
Now, that was something Zoe taught my son I didn’t approve of.
“We’re celebrating. You can have whatever you want.”
“Vanilla bean ice cream to make cookie sandwiches?”
Lord.
This kid.
“Sure.”
“You’re the bomb-diggity-dog.”
Shot to the heart.
Something else he learned from his Aunt Zoe. However, I hadn’t heard him say it since her funeral.
“We’ve got five minutes before we’re at your school. Give me a rundown. Two things you’re looking forward to today and one thing you’re worried about.”
“Today’s the last day we’re playing volleyball in gym. Friday is strawberry milk day. My math quiz.”
My kid loved strawberry milk. I’d never tried it, but despite loving strawberries, adding them to milk sounded disgusting.
“I can take it from that you weren’t a fan of volleyball week.”
“Nope. Next week is picketball, which sounds totally lame.”
“Pickleball,” I corrected. “It’s all the rage right now. It could be fun.”
“At least there’s a racket involved,” he mumbled. “Though Mrs. Ashberry already warned the class the first person who uses it as a weapon has to sit out the rest of the week.”
I did not envy Mrs. Ashberry. A group of ten- and eleven-year-olds with a racket that can be used to swat at something sounded like a recipe for disaster.
“You’re gonna ace your math quiz,” I told him. “You’re Lucas ‘The Math Wizard’ Cross.”
“I’m gonna be Lucas ‘Grounded All Weekend’ Cross if I don’t pass.”
“And that’s why you studied your butt off,” I reminded him. “What else is happening? Any new friends?”
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught his shrug. “Not really. There’s this girl who got moved to my lunch table. She seems okay, but she’s really quiet.”
“What’s her name?”
“Juniper. But everyone calls her Juni.”
Cool name.
“Maybe Juni is just shy and is waiting for someone to talk to her and be her friend.”
“Maybe.”
“And what do we do when someone is sitting alone and not talking to anyone?”
“We talk to them and make sure they know they’re seen. Today at lunch I’ll sit next to her and ask her questions and stuff.”
Oh, yeah, I totally loved my boy.
“Report back with her favorite hobby and color and there’s an extra ice cream cookie in it for you.”
Some parents might call it a reward for their kid being a good person. But the truth was, I wasn’t above bribing my son into putting extra effort into befriending a shy girl.
I was once that girl.
I knew what it felt like to want friends but not have any.
It wasn’t until a cute, popular boy made me feel special that I started to come out of my shell.
Then I had Zoe, and she had a presence that lit up a room. You couldn’t help but be drawn into her orbit. And once you were there, she never let you go.
I’d lost two of the most important people in my life. The two people who’d shown me love, but more importantly, how to love.
And I was damn well making sure I raised my son to be like Jase and Zoe.
Proving that my boy was wiser than his years, I rolled up to the Hope Center sans coffee. I’d been so lost in thought going over my pitch I drove through town, passing at least seven coffee shops, and failed to pull into any of them.
Five minutes later, I was parked, had my lucky Coach, and purse strapped over my shoulder, and was making my way across the parking lot.
The Hope Center looked like a YMCA. The building was also newish.
During my research, I’d read about a fire that burned down the original center.
Thankfully no one was injured during the blaze, but there had been an entrapment—an unnamed minor; Josie Lark who was the director; and another woman, Sawyer Glasgow.
As I made my way to the front doors, I went over what I knew about Josie—master’s degree in early childhood development and a doctorate in education.
She’d written countless articles for scholarly journals, and she’d given speeches all over the country.
To say I was intimidated would be an understatement.
It wasn’t her education or the articles or even her accolades.
I’d watched several of the speeches she’d given online; the woman had a commanding presence even through my computer screen. In person, she’d be a powerhouse.
I can do this.
“You’re gonna nail it, Hot Stuff.” I heard Zoe in my head. “Tonight we’ll pop a cork and toast your brilliance.”
There would be no more popping corks with Zoe.
However, there were ice cream sandwiches with Lucas to look forward to.
“Hi.” A beautiful brunette who bore a striking resemblance to Minka Kelly, greeted me as soon as I walked into the center. “Welcome to the Hope Center.”
“Hello. I’m Rainy Cross. I have an appointment with Ms. Lark.”
The woman dialed up her smile, and wow, she was gorgeous.
“Rainy. So good to meet you, I’m Sophie. Let me call Josie and tell her you’re—”
“No need.”
I turned at the voice and had to blink—Josie Lark was a blonde bombshell. Either God, genetics, or a good Korean skincare routine had given her amazing skin. “Rainy. Thanks for coming in.”