Page 12 of Love Me Not

“Yes, I know. You typed up all of the instructions, emailed them to me yesterday, and posted a copy on the refrigerator door. We’ve got this.” To Jacob, I said, “Please, drag your wife out of this apartment.”

He kissed the baby before grabbing Becca’s hand. “You know she’s going to call you in half an hour.”

I laughed. “She’ll never make it that long.”

“You don’t need to talk about me like I’m not here.” Becca smoothed down Noah’s hair and sighed. “Are you sure you’ve got this?”

“Absolutely sure.” I held Noah in the air and he kicked his legs and squealed in delight “If it’ll make you feel better, I’ll send pictures every fifteen minutes so you won’t have to worry, okay?”

Relief softened her expression. “That would help.”

I rose and leaned the baby on my shoulder. “Consider it done.” After kissing her cheek, I turned so she could kiss her son one more time. “Now go have fun with your hunky husband.”

Jacob laughed. “I don’t know about hunky.”

The man could literally be cast as the hot lead in a Korean drama tomorrow. “Hunky and humble. Get out of here before you miss your dinner reservation.”

“We have reservations?” Becca said as they finally headed toward the door.

I couldn’t hear anything beyond that as the door clicked shut behind them. Plopping the baby between two pillows on the couch, I pulled out my phone.

“Okay, little guy. Let’s snap a bunch of pictures now while you’re still happy, because we both know the tears are coming in ten minutes when you realize your mommy is gone.”

I had ninety minutes before bed time, which meant at least five shots. I took six just to be safe. With each pic we changed location. From the couch to the floor to the automatic swing to the vibrating seat. Had to throw in a furball one, though getting the family cat Milo to cooperate wasn’t easy. I put Noah in sunglasses for the last one, and Donna would have been impressed how quickly I caught the shot before he whipped those bad boys back off.

By the time the pics were taken, the diaper needed changing. Then little man started sucking on his fist and I knew what that meant. His patience grew thin as I heated the bottle, but once the plug was in his mouth, he was happy again. In no time we were sprawled on the couch watching spoiled rich people throw drinks at each other, and at six fifty-five on the dot, Noah’s eyes drooped shut.

After ten exhausting days at school, I was tempted to pass out myself, but I had research to do. Once Noah was tucked into his bassinette—placed not far from the couch for safe watching—I turned off the television, dimmed the lights, and pulled out my laptop.

What play could I choose that would bring more kids to the club? A modern piece, for sure. Something relevant. Dear, Evan Hanson had music, so that was out. I typed the phrase modern plays to perform in high school into the search engine and got several options I didn’t recognize. Sticking with the tried and true musicals had thrown me out of the loop on anything new.

Skimming the summaries, the fourth one down caught my attention. Small town setting, modern day, and lots of teen angst with very real and relevant themes. Social media bullying, group think, fitting in vs standing up for what you believe in, and uncertainty about the future.

Clicking for more details, the site said an eight to ten piece ensemble with minimal sets and, based on the character descriptions, the kids could pretty much wear their own clothes. That would mean less investment up front and the potential for an actual profit at the end.

The rights fee fit my budget, which made the decision an easy one.

“Okay, then,” I whispered aloud. “We’re going with Choices.”

“Ma, Joey touched me again.”

“Babka, Lucy won’t give me the ball.”

“I’ll eat after one more game!”

I loved my nieces and nephews. I truly did. But I also understood why some animals ate their young.

As a teacher, most people assumed I was a kid person. Au contraire. I taught high school juniors and seniors for a reason. They were as close to adults as I could get without having to become a professor. Which led to another wrong assumption made about teachers. We didn’t all love academia. At least not at the peer reviewed papers, college bureaucracy level.

My brothers and sisters—Janet, Joe, Alex, and Frankie—along with their significant others more than made up for my lack of reproduction. Between them, they’d blessed my parents with eight grandchildren. So far, at least. Frankie, the baby of the family, had his first a year ago and no doubt would keep adding more. His wife Vivie also came from a big family and had stated more than once that she couldn’t wait to have a houseful of her own.

More power to her.

All of this provided me the cover I needed to scoot under the radar. The age old When are you going to get married? question stopped around the time of Frankie and Vivie’s wedding. Once the youngest was hitched, people took for granted that we all were and that was fine by me.

“Aunt Lindsey, can you open this for me?” asked Amelia, Joe’s four-year-old.

“Sure thing, squirt,” I said, stabbing the pointy straw into the juice pack.

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