and don’t overdo it. It’s okay to relax once in a while, and it’s okay for you to help out,” she assured Paxton, shoving a prescription for prenatal supplements in his chest.
“I help,” Paxton complained, sounding an awful lot like one of his minions.
I couldn’t help but smile at him. Of course, I did just get laid, and I had a healthy baby, that surely added to my happiness.
Paxton and I walked out to the car, hand in hand, laughing. “I can’t believe you just did that,” he accused with a shove from his shoulder, sending me to the passenger side of my car. Our fingers lingered briefly, and I held tight to the solid foundation below our feet, knowing with everything in me it wouldn’t last. It was fake, as the photo on his desk. Our foundation would crack and crumble around us, like it always did, I just didn’t know when. Until then, my plan was to keep moving forward, forget everything else and focus on now. On us.
We flirted, held hands in the car, and kissed when we got the chance, all the way to the school. I’d hoped we beat the chaos, but I was wrong. More than twenty or so cars tried to get to their kids first.
“Jesus, why is this so hard?” I questioned, seeing once again, Mr. Jandt. Rowan’s teacher fucked it up no matter what end they put him on. By the time we finally made it up to the other second-grade teacher, Paxton wasn’t very playful anymore.
“I’m pulling them out of here. This is ridiculous.”
I ignored him, knowing that wasn’t going to happen, hoping like hell it got better sometime. It couldn’t be this way the whole year, could it? I rolled down my window just as the other second-grade teacher opened the back door, calling to my troops with a quick whistle to grab their attention and then a straight finger.
“Pierce, kids, here. Now, let’s roll,” she called. “How you doing, Gabby?”
“I’m well, you think he’ll ever get the hang of this?”
“No, I doubt it. I think he did too many drugs when he was in Nashville, trying to be a Grand Olé Opry person, or whatever you call those people. Van, backpack, buddy,” she called just before I did.
I laughed, but Paxton didn’t find it very comical. “I’ll see you in the morning,” I said with a smile as our children excitedly piled in. Daddy was the excitement. I hurdled through this mess every single day. Twice a day, and they were more excited to see him than me. Traitors. None of them acknowledge that I was even there. They rambled on about their day to Paxton, not me.
“Thanks for your help again the other day,” Miss. Brinkley said with a smile and a tap on my opened window.
“No problem.”
“Help with what. You never tell me anything,” Paxton accused.
“Sometimes, mommy directs the traffic and Mr. J drives her car,” Rowan announced like it was her six-year-old duty.
“Shut up, Rowan. You’re not supposed to tell daddy that,” Ophelia worried.
My neck snapped to hers with a frown, and I didn’t even have to look over to see Paxton’s, knowing damn well, he thought I put her up to it. I didn’t and I was going to knock that one out before it got started. Right in front of Paxton. “Buckle up, Row. Why did you say that, Phi? I never told you not to tell your daddy that.”
“But one time you did. Daddy was really mad.”
“It’s okay, bug, daddy’s not mad at anyone,” Paxton offered through the rearview mirror. Like he was the one who wanted to stop it. His hand over mine, and the look for me to shut up, caused me to drop it, but only until they weren’t around. Solid my ass.
The conversation quickly returned to five and six-year-old chatter. Rowan got an A+ on her math test, Vander missed the word, foot because he thought the oo was a u. I rolled my eyes, recollecting the same discussion on the way to school. He knew it was two o’s. Ophelia didn’t have much to say. Something was on her mind, something that had to do with her telling her daddy something at a
“I help,” Paxton complained, sounding an awful lot like one of his minions.
I couldn’t help but smile at him. Of course, I did just get laid, and I had a healthy baby, that surely added to my happiness.
Paxton and I walked out to the car, hand in hand, laughing. “I can’t believe you just did that,” he accused with a shove from his shoulder, sending me to the passenger side of my car. Our fingers lingered briefly, and I held tight to the solid foundation below our feet, knowing with everything in me it wouldn’t last. It was fake, as the photo on his desk. Our foundation would crack and crumble around us, like it always did, I just didn’t know when. Until then, my plan was to keep moving forward, forget everything else and focus on now. On us.
We flirted, held hands in the car, and kissed when we got the chance, all the way to the school. I’d hoped we beat the chaos, but I was wrong. More than twenty or so cars tried to get to their kids first.
“Jesus, why is this so hard?” I questioned, seeing once again, Mr. Jandt. Rowan’s teacher fucked it up no matter what end they put him on. By the time we finally made it up to the other second-grade teacher, Paxton wasn’t very playful anymore.
“I’m pulling them out of here. This is ridiculous.”
I ignored him, knowing that wasn’t going to happen, hoping like hell it got better sometime. It couldn’t be this way the whole year, could it? I rolled down my window just as the other second-grade teacher opened the back door, calling to my troops with a quick whistle to grab their attention and then a straight finger.
“Pierce, kids, here. Now, let’s roll,” she called. “How you doing, Gabby?”
“I’m well, you think he’ll ever get the hang of this?”
“No, I doubt it. I think he did too many drugs when he was in Nashville, trying to be a Grand Olé Opry person, or whatever you call those people. Van, backpack, buddy,” she called just before I did.
I laughed, but Paxton didn’t find it very comical. “I’ll see you in the morning,” I said with a smile as our children excitedly piled in. Daddy was the excitement. I hurdled through this mess every single day. Twice a day, and they were more excited to see him than me. Traitors. None of them acknowledge that I was even there. They rambled on about their day to Paxton, not me.
“Thanks for your help again the other day,” Miss. Brinkley said with a smile and a tap on my opened window.
“No problem.”
“Help with what. You never tell me anything,” Paxton accused.
“Sometimes, mommy directs the traffic and Mr. J drives her car,” Rowan announced like it was her six-year-old duty.
“Shut up, Rowan. You’re not supposed to tell daddy that,” Ophelia worried.
My neck snapped to hers with a frown, and I didn’t even have to look over to see Paxton’s, knowing damn well, he thought I put her up to it. I didn’t and I was going to knock that one out before it got started. Right in front of Paxton. “Buckle up, Row. Why did you say that, Phi? I never told you not to tell your daddy that.”
“But one time you did. Daddy was really mad.”
“It’s okay, bug, daddy’s not mad at anyone,” Paxton offered through the rearview mirror. Like he was the one who wanted to stop it. His hand over mine, and the look for me to shut up, caused me to drop it, but only until they weren’t around. Solid my ass.
The conversation quickly returned to five and six-year-old chatter. Rowan got an A+ on her math test, Vander missed the word, foot because he thought the oo was a u. I rolled my eyes, recollecting the same discussion on the way to school. He knew it was two o’s. Ophelia didn’t have much to say. Something was on her mind, something that had to do with her telling her daddy something at a
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