Page 7 of Lillian

I get three blocks away before they really start in full force. Tears stream down my cheeks in a non-stop torrent, blurring my vision. The road is getting harder to see. The back of my right hand is soaked with the tears I’m wiping away.

Embarrassed.He’s embarrassed of me. The word rings through and around my head until it’s all I hear. Until his stony face is all I see.

My phone ringing drags me from my thoughts. As my eyes pull back into focus, I realize my wheel is turned too far to the right, and I’m barreling toward the sidewalk where a box sits.

“Shit!” I yell as I slam on my brakes, tires screeching, and the back end of my car fishtails, hitting the curb hard and sideswiping a meter. “Great. Just great,” I groan. At least the gut-wrenching fear has dried the tears.

With a sigh, I unbuckle and hop out to inspect the damage to the meter and car. The box on the sidewalk is inches from my front bumper. “What the hell,” I mutter, peering in at the…

Is that…?

“Oh my God,” I breathe in horror.

April 2024

“Mommy, watch this,”a sweet little voice calls from the living room.

“Hold on, sweetie,” I call back, cutting the strawberries and plating them with the chocolate chip pancakes she requested for breakfast this morning. I would have cooked her anything she wanted. A mountain of bacon, a hamburger, even a plate of buffalo wings if she asked for it this morning. Anything to make her day just a little better. To keep her mind off of what she’s doing later for just a little longer.

“Mommy!” she yells. “Mommy, watch!” Her tone is impatient and demanding. The little shithead. But it brings a smile to my face. What other parents would call annoying or tiresome, I don’t. Not when I know how precious it is. These moments.

“MOMMY—”

“Okay, okay,” I laugh. “Don’t yell. Mommy was busy, and we use our inside voices. Remember?” I explain patiently, walking over and bringing her plate to the table.

“Sowwy,” she mutters, dejected.

“It’s okay, baby girl. We just need to be patient sometimes. Now show me,” I grin at her to show I’m not mad. And it works. Her face lights up in that adorable smile that melts me every time.

“Otay, watch,” she says for the thousandth time before a look of concentration crosses her face, and then she jumps and spins in a one-eighty. Then, she jumps and spins once more to complete her three-sixty and face me again.

I laugh at the incredibly proud look on her face. “Good job. Now hop up here and eat your breakfast.”

A shake of her head. “I’m not hungry anymore.”

Oh, here we go.It’s been the same battle every day this week. She’s hungry, and then she’s not hungry anymore. She wants the dino nuggies but then doesn’t like one of the dinosaurs. The ketchup touched her mac and cheese, so she doesn’t wantanyof the food on her plate.

“Nope. I made you the breakfast you asked for. You’re going to eat at least half of it. Come on, let’s go.” She pouts at me as I pat the chair for her to take. But she listens, nonetheless. I swear she’s just testing to see what she can get away with because she digs into the cut-up pieces of pancake and syrup with a hungry fervor.

I sit down with her just to keep her company since I snacked on some of the food as I was making hers. Pulling out my phone, I scroll through the few emails I got after I logged off last night. Since going freelance with my graphic design business, things have really taken off. The first few years were a struggle of trying to make ends meet as I was building a diverse and impressive enough portfolio to land large clients with repeat business.

But all the hard work, long days, and even later nights paid off. Now I’m turning away work because I’m too busy.

“Knock, knock!” my sister’s voice calls out from the front door as she pushes through without waiting for an invitation. Not that she needs to. She’s been my rock these last four years, and I wouldn’t have my baby girl without her.

She waddles in, seven months pregnant, and her six-year-old barrels after her.

“Aunt Kimmy!” my four-year-old shouts with a mouth full of pancake and hair plastered to her forehead by the syrup she managed to get up there somehow.

“Hey, munchkin,” Kim laughs as Grace wraps her sticky body around her aunt’s leg. Not being able to bend down and pick her up like she normally would, my sister sticks to placing a hand on Grace’s head in greeting.

“Gracie, look what I got!” her cousin Nick says, proudly holding up a soccer ball. “Mom got it for me. Want to play outside?”

“Can we?” Gracie looks at me with puppy dog eyes. Not that I’d say no. I’d rather her play outside with her cousin than be inside while I gossip with her aunt about things she absolutely does not need to hear.

“Sure. Be careful, and stay in the yard.” I look at Nicky when I say this. He’s old enough to know better than to leave the fenced area of my small backyard. Plus, from the kitchen window, we’ll be able to see at least one of them at all times.

They both give little cheers and then run out the backdoor, slamming the screen behind them.

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