Chapter 31 Michelle The Simple Life #2
Keith blinked up at her from his cereal, like his brain needed a second to buffer. “Uh… yeah? I took a sip. Chill.”
Emma recoiled. “A sip? Mom, he drank out of the bite valve. The actual valve. His mouth was on it.”
This seemed like a non-issue. I had no interest in getting involved.
“I was thirsty.” Keith shrugged like this was all extremely reasonable.
“You backwashed into it!”
“No, I specifically remember sucking.” Keith’s eyebrows shot up, delighted.
Out of all the kids, he was the most like Scott, in both mannerisms and looks.
Funny, charming, and laidback. Unfortunately, he’d also picked up a handful of Scott’s old bad habits, such as an addiction to weed and a tendency to hover on the wrong side of the rules.
But with his eighteenth birthday quickly approaching and him nearly getting expelled from school, Keith had gotten a little tough love from Scott and now seemed to be turning things around.
From what little I’d managed to drag out of him, he’d even met a nice, normal girl.
Emma insisted it wasn’t serious. Said she was a nerd; his lab partner, and he was probably just using her to help him pass the class.
I was okay with that.
“Ugh.” Emma flared. “I probably have a disease now.”
Keith held back a laugh. “Statistically speaking, yeah. Probably.”
Jake looked up from his assignment. “I mean, that’s literally how we all got pinkeye that one time. Keith farted into the pillow, and none of us were spared.”
“Jake,” I warned, snapping my fingers and pointing at his paper. “Back to your Kyle compliments or I’ll reset the timer.”
“This isn’t a joke.” Emma slammed the bottle on the counter. “I can’t use it anymore, Mom.”
Sure she could, but at sixteen, Emma was all drama.
After her tutu-twos, she’d grown into a lovely, easygoing little girl.
A rule-follower, Emma adored her mommy and the piano above all else.
We were inseparable, sneaking off for girl afternoons whenever we could.
But then came puberty and breasts and boys, and suddenly Emma’s moods required protective gear.
Keith shoveled another mountainous spoonful of cereal into his mouth and spoke through it. “Honestly, Emma, I’m flattered you think my spit is that powerful.”
Emma went after him. I stepped between at the last second, sparing my oldest a water bottle to the head.
“Okay. I thought you two were old enough to work it out.” I maneuvered Emma to the table. “My mistake. Sit. Now.”
“That’s stupid,” she said. “I’m not doing it.”
“Actually, you are. I’m out of patience and fully prepared to ruin someone’s day. Would you like it to be yours?”
Emma leveled her gaze and decided I wasn’t bluffing. She slammed into a chair, arms crossed in front of her.
“You too,” I said to Keith.
“Me?” He took his seat without protest, mumbling, “I just wanted water.”
I repeated the rules and reset the timer, shooting a look toward Kyle and Jake to warn them against complaining. “You have five minutes. Impress me.”
And then, for the first time all morning, there was silence.
No fighting. No crying. No cereal slurping or contaminated bottles.
A rare moment of triumph. I wanted to call someone and share, but Scott and the kids were my only real social circle.
I’d tried to make friends over the years, but it never came naturally.
Something in me always felt… off. Like I was that awkward dog at the park wandering in slow circles—tail wagging, trying to look approachable—secretly hoping someone else would make the first move.
Maybe it was the way I’d grown up: polished and proper, always performing.
The Carver rules had followed me long after the money didn’t.
I wasn’t rich enough to fit in with the well-off moms, but I still carried myself like I’d come from that world.
I couldn’t help it. Upper-class poor. A weird in-between that left people unsure where to place me.
No, it was fine. I was fine. I didn’t need friends. Or work colleagues who liked me. All I needed was Scott and our kids. I leaned against the counter, my now-cold coffee cupped in my hands, and smiled, watching them all struggle to find something nice to say about each other.
These were my babies. Four more than I ever thought I’d have.
Scott and I had built a life to be proud of.
It wasn’t always easy, and we’d struggled plenty.
The broke years. The sleepless nights. The bad decision and good intentions.
But it was sheer stubborn love that kept pulling us forward.
And these six kids in front of me were our greatest gifts.
The timer beeped.
“All right,” I said, pushing off the counter and joining them at the table. “Pencils down.”
Grace immediately climbed into my lap, holding her drawing so close to my face I went cross-eyed. “Me first! I did three!”
“Okay, let’s hear them.”
“Quinn lets me be the pink Power Ranger even when he wants to be.”
Quinn’s eyes went wide as he looked at his brothers. He hurried to clarify. “I don’t ever want to be the pink one.”
Grace continued. “And he pushes me on the swing really high. And he always checks for monsters under my bed.”
A soft, collective “Aww” rippled from the older kids. Kyle even patted Quinn on the back, and my littlest boy beamed.
I squeezed Grace. “Good job, baby. Quinn, your turn.”
He smoothed his paper on the table and rattled off his three things at lightning speed.
“Grace gives the best hugs. She shares her animal crackers with me. And… and she cried when I fell off my bike last week.” He glanced at his little sister, a flicker of real affection breaking through. “That was nice.”
My heart swelled. Small, honest moments like this were why I’d had Grace and Quinn so many years after the first four. I’d thought I was done, but when Jake and Kyle started school, the house got… quiet. Too quiet. And I was reminded of how fast childhood slips away.
“Great job, sweetheart,” I said, voice catching a little. “Okay. Jake and Kyle, you’re up.”
They both squirmed. Feelings weren’t their strong suit.
Kyle went first, pretending boredom but stealing glances at his brother.
“One, you’re good at everything—guitar, skating, school, people just like you.
Two, you spent a whole year teaching me to ollie before I got it.
Three… you took the blame when I broke Dad’s favorite mug.
Said, ‘You’re my little brother. I’ll always have your back. ’”
Jake stared, bravado gone for a second. Then he smacked Kyle’s arm. “That story’s gotten way better with age.”
I sighed. Close enough.
“Okay,” Jake said, tapping his pencil like it hurt to be earnest. “One, you’re funny—I’ve literally pissed my pants laughing. Two, you’re actually good at guitar; I was just being a dick earlier. Three…” His voice dipped. “You’re loyal. You’d never leave me hanging.”
The hostility between them softened into something like a truce. Mission accomplished.
“My turn,” Emma said, eyes on paper. “Keith, you’re weirdly confident. I’ve watched you talk your way out of detention like it was a customer service misunderstanding. You’re generous. Like, you routinely give away stuff you actually need. Shoes, jacket, your last burrito.”
Keith nodded. “The burrito was a mistake.”
Emma laughed. “And last one. You always walk on the outside of the sidewalk. It makes me feel protected. Very old-school.”
“Thank you, Emma. And you’re welcome.” Keith leaned back in his chair.
“I don’t do sincere out loud, but I wrote something for you.
Read it alone. Then burn it.” He slid her a folded note.
“For now, three superficial things I like about you. You have good snacks, and you hide them in the same spot every time. You dress cool enough, I don’t have to lie about you being my sister.
And you’re the only sibling tough enough to keep me alive during an apocalypse. ”
Not quite the heartfelt answers I’d hoped for, but so perfectly Keith that I let it go.
“Let’s be real,” Jake said. “Keith was always going to fail the assignment.”
Quinn stood. “Can we go now?”
“Yes,” I said, setting Grace on the floor as I got up. “Just one more thing.”
I opened my arms. “Group hug.”
The kids crowded in, and for a moment I remembered every version of them I’d ever held. The sun on the patio felt good, but it had nothing on this.
The kitchen door opened.
Scott stepped inside wearing a pleasant expression, still wet from the ocean waves. He froze mid-step, his smile fading as he took in the sight of his entire family… getting along.
“Sorry,” he said, slowly backing out the way he came. “Wrong house.”
The door clapped shut behind him.
Scott reentered after the kids had already scattered.
Shaking out his hair, he eyed me, grinning. “I’m not even gonna ask what happened here.”
“That’s probably best,” I said, setting down a warm cup of coffee on the counter for him.
Scott, already focused on the newspaper, brought the coffee to his lips without stopping to wonder where it had come from.
I smiled, lingering on him. I always did find him sexiest when he was freshly washed by the ocean, sporting tousled hair and sun-crusted skin.
Neither one of us was getting any younger, but in his late thirties, Scott was aging ridiculously well.
His hair was still on the long side, tapered and pushed back in thick waves, and the light stubble on his jaw hinted at a man who wasn’t rushing through life.
I wasn’t the only one who found him desirable. Scott had unintentionally built himself a loyal fan base in this coastal community. Known on his postal route as Hotmail, he was the daily delivery that the suburban moms in our zip code consistently looked forward to.
Propped against the counter, I leaned in and kissed him. That perked him right up, automatically taking my interest to mean I want to bed you immediately.