Chapter 3 #2
“Alright, pretty girl, let’s go get your brother,” I sigh, as I pull into the parking lot at Rising Stars and turn off my car.
I see the very old sticker in the upper lefthand corner of my windshield, noting how many thousands of miles I’m overdue for an oil change, but I don’t have any money to spare right now.
My sister didn’t have any savings or life insurance, and infant formula is ridiculously expensive.
Violet had difficulty gaining weight at birth, and her pediatrician put her on Nutramigen hypoallergenic baby formula.
I love that she immediately began gaining weight, but the formula is at least thirty bucks a container!
Occasionally the pediatrician has samples he gives me, but it still costs a ton.
I recently began trying solids with her, and it has not gone well.
I quickly pull Violet from the car and briskly walk toward the building. As I open the door into the lobby, I see Oliver waving at me from behind the desk. “Auntie Ella! You’re early!”
“That I am,” I mumble, jostling Violet on my hip. Her head is on a swivel as she takes in all the action. We can hear music from one room, loud squealing from another, and multiple phone lines ring as a frazzled Marie strides around the corner.
“I’m so sorry to just throw him at you, but another kiddo just threw up, and we’re down a teacher already,” she says.
“Stomach flu?” I ask, my heart dropping. She gives me a grim nod. “Great.”
“Hey, maybe you’re getting out of here in time. I’ll cross my fingers Oliver doesn’t get sick.” A crash sounds from behind Marie, and she winces. “Crap. I gotta go.”
“Good luck,” I murmur, then look down at Oliver. He peers up at me, suddenly pale.
“Auntie, I don’t feel good.”
Shit.
“Come on. Let’s get home before anything else happens.”
“Auntie, I feel yucky …” he trails off, and I know. I feel it in my bones, two seconds before it happens. Then I literally feel it, when it hits my shoes. Tears fill my eyes as I take a deep breath, acutely aware of how much my life is going to suck for the next couple of days.
“I spoke too soon. So sorry, El! Take him home. I’ll clean up,” Marie says hastily from the desk. I nod glumly as I grab Oliver’s hand.
“I frow up,” Oliver says. “I don’t like that.”
“I know, buddy. I don’t like to throw up either.”
“Why, though? Why I frow up?”
Thankful I left the car unlocked, I usher Oliver into the car, then round it to put Violet back into her seat. “Well, some germs got into your tummy. When your body doesn’t like the germs, it wants to get them out. Throwing up is the fastest way to get the germs out.”
“Am I gonna frow up again?” he asks.
“I don’t know. Maybe. Let’s get home, get you in a warm bath, and we’ll take it a step at a time.
Okay?” He nods, but his lower lip quivers.
I’m close to crying as well, and Violet’s gaze bounces between the two of us as I snap her into her seat, then hustle back to make sure Oliver is in his booster.
I take deep breaths as I drive home, slightly above the speed limit, willing myself not to focus my attention on the smell in my car, or how my feet feel.
Oliver missed his entire body, seemingly focused on hitting just me.
In a normal situation, I’d admire that feat.
But right now, I’m two seconds away from having a breakdown.
I don’t like vomit, especially when it’s someone else’s.
My tires squeal as I come to a stop in front of my building, and I get both kids out of the car in record time. As I’m pushing Oliver through our door, my phone rings. Right as I pull it from my pocket, seeing Gianna’s name, I go to hit the “decline” button, and Oliver throws up again.
“Shit!” I shout, putting Violet in her bouncer. I grab a trash can and shove it under Oliver as he continues to retch.
“El? What’s going on? Are you okay?” I hear, and I realize I somehow connected the call to Gianna. God. Now is not that time.
“G, I can’t talk. Oliver is throwing up.
” Violet lets out a scream, and I swivel to see her covered in what I assume is her last bottle.
“Now Violet is throwing up too! What am I supposed to do? I’m not equipped to handle this!
The stupid washing machine is broken, and the dryer broke months ago, so how am I supposed to wash anything?
I don’t even have anything bland for Oli to eat, and what if I get it?
Is this how parenthood is? I didn’t sign up for this!
It isn’t fair, my sister should be here! I don’t want to do this!”
There is silence on the other end of the line, and I begin to cry.
I never thought it would be this hard. I love these kids.
I’d do anything for them. But it is hard!
I’m not their mother, and I know I’ll never be good enough to take her place.
They’ll always wish she were here instead of me.
I’m making mistake after mistake, and nothing I do seems to be enough.
“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”
“What?” I ask, my voice meek and shaky.
“I’m coming. You need help. I’ve been there. I’ll bring cleaning supplies and bland food. We got this, girl.”
“Okay.” I don’t even argue. I don’t have the energy.
Fifteen minutes later, Gianna charges in, arms laden with bags of items. “My entire family just had norovirus a couple of weeks ago, and we stockpiled a bunch of things. I also ordered some groceries to be delivered in about an hour.”
Fresh tears fall from my eyes as I wipe a lock of hair off my forehead. “You didn’t have to do all of that.”
Gianna shrugs. “If the roles were reversed, we both know you’d have done the same thing. Where are the kids?”
I point toward the bathroom, where I can see Violet reclining in her infant bathtub, and Oliver stacking empty cups on the edge of the tub-shower combo.
It’s a rare time I’m thankful I can see the tub from the front door.
“In the shower. I just got them stripped of their clothes, and now I need to go bathe them.”
“I’ll handle that. You go clean yourself up. What’s wrong with the washer?”
“I really don’t know. I’m not adept at those things. The dryer stopped heating the clothes a while ago, but I figured I could just hang things to dry for now. The washer seems to drain all the water without soaking anything, so nothing actually gets clean.”
She whips out her phone. “Okay. I’m on it. I’ll get someone here to repair them this evening.”
“G, no,” I say hurriedly. “I don’t have the money to fix them. I’ll just have to use the laundromat by the bookstore for now. I was complaining earlier, I didn’t expect you to roll in here and fix everything.”
“Ah, but fixing things is what I’m good at. Just ask Travis. It’s the type A personality. I’ve got this. Go get cleaned up. The kids will be fine with me for thirty minutes.”
Thirty whole minutes to shower? I’m not sure the last time I had that long of a shower. I shouldn’t take the whole half hour, but I do. I need the time to get my head on straight. Think of ways I can make ends meet for the time being.
As I shampoo my hair, I start doing the math.
I only have a couple hundred dollars in savings, and a new washer and dryer set will run well over a thousand.
I have good credit, so I can probably get approved for a card somewhere.
But what will the monthly payment be? I’m already tapped out on utilities, food, and general expenses.
I have a handful of old baseball cards of my dad’s that I know are worth some good money. I hate to think about selling them, but difficult times call for difficult decisions. Wait, is that the saying? Crud. I don’t know.
Another option I have is to open up the bookstore for events. I could charge a flat fee per hour. But how will that impact the wellbeing of the cats that currently live there? And would events change the insurance premiums I pay for the space?
I could also start volunteering to babysit nights and weekends.
I’m thankful the bookstore keeps regular hours, and I split the shifts with my best friend, Whitley.
Her focus is mostly on the attached café, but we cover for each other so we can have another day off during the week.
We’re closed every Sunday, so I could pick up babysitting then.
But it risks the chance of bringing more germs into my home, and if the kids are sick, I can’t work.
After taking the longest shower in recent memory, I’m more relaxed, but no closer to any answer. Wrapping my hair in a towel, and my body in my well-loved chenille robe, I pad down the hall to check on the kids, but the doorbell rings.
“That’s probably the groceries!” Gianna calls out. “I’m almost done in here, can you get the bags?”
“Okay!” Well, I’m in a robe, but considering I walked through the parking lot of Rising Stars with puke in my shoes, having a grocery delivery person see me this way is nowhere close to topping my humiliation for the day.
To my dismay, it’s not the groceries.
It’s much worse.
“Leo?”