Page 5 of The Girl He Loves

If I can get my record expunged, my parents need never know about this latest obstacle, and what caused it. I mean, I already got the lecture about dropping out of college. I already got the lecture on getting pregnant while in college, which is why I dropped out. Then I got the side-eyes and little retorts when Justin and I separated. Now that we're divorced, I don't dare tell my family he's consistently delinquent with child support because somehow they’d make that my fault, too. No need to add to the list. I’ll come up with something believable if this can’t be resolved quickly.

“His name is Robinson, Mitch Robinson. He's a criminal attorney. Heather, you don't need a criminal defense attorney, do you?”

I’m not surprised she makes that leap.

“No, Mom. I'm asking for a friend.” Thank heavens, Mom isn’t on Facebook and doesn’t know the inside joke of “asking for a friend.”

“Oh, dear. You have a friend in trouble. It's not one of the girls, is it? Because you know if I had to pick one, it would be that Josie.”

“No, mom, it's not Josie—who, by the way, is a lawyer.” I should’ve called her. But I know why I didn’t. Because I hate that all my friends are successful and going places and I’m…

Right where I’ve always been. And I need yet another handout.

“Are you and Tyler still okay with me going to work at the fundraiser?” I ask. I volunteered to waitress at an epilepsy fundraiser today.

“Yep, we’ve got the day all planned out. You take some time for you. Celebrate. You’re almost done with school, and your dad and I are so proud. Let today be a small gift from us.”

I suck a deep breath in through my nose, yoga style. “Thanks Mom. Tell my kid I love him. I’ll try to call around dinner.”

We hang up after a few more words.

Before I drive away, I do an internet search for expunging records and lawyers who do this sort of thing in Daytona Beach. Ads for various firms pop up.

Get your record clean in two to six months. Prices start at $1000.

Okay. That’s a start. I will offer Josie that amount. The cost sucks, but it gives me an idea of what dealing with this issue will entail. What the baseline cost will be. I mean, if I were going to blow a thousand dollars, would this be what I would spend it on? No. Maybe I would buy myself something or get a new dishwasher. And I’d take myself and my child out to eat, too. Haven't done that in a while.

Big picture, a grand is small to get what I want, right? Though with my luck, it’ll probably cost something ridiculous, like six grand.

I click on one of the ads for the expunging company. Is that even the right word? Expunging? Sounds like there’s mold or something on my roof, expunge.

My next call is to Josie. But after four rings, the call goes to voicemail. Josie is also working at the epilepsy fundraiser, so I know I’ll see her there. Nothing more I can do now. I will myself to set the problem aside. Once I'm done working the fundraiser, I’ll devote all my attention to this issue.

Though if I had one wish, it would be…what? Truth is, if I had one wish, it would be that my child wouldn’t have epilepsy. But I pretend that wish has already been granted and I’ve been gifted another one today. Lucky me. And so, I’ll wish for…a resolution that won’t break the bank and will give me what I want.

A glance at the clock on my minivan’s dash tells me I’m supposed to be back in Daytona Beach in an hour and a half for my assigned shift with the fundraiser. The drive from the campus to downtown Daytona is just shy of an hour.

Leaving the campus of the University of Central Florida, I point my minivan north, take 417 through Sanford and catch I-4 at Seminole. The scenery is so familiar I don’t really see it. Palm trees, lakes, and strip malls. Fifty minutes later, I’m exiting onto International Speedway Boulevard, and I don’t remember anything about the drive. I was on autopilot. I’ve done it three times a week for the last two years. I don't recall seeing any of the landmarks, signs for new Disney attractions, or even crossing lanes to get to the off-ramp, which is pretty scary when you think about it. No cell phone necessary to cause my distracted driving today.

At a red light, my phone pings. The text message from Mom is a picture. Tyler at the Kona Shaved Ice truck. He’s holding a giant blue shaved ice, and his lips are already stained. His smile is infectious.

The caption from Mom is This kid finds joy everywhere.

I bang my head against the steering wheel twice and am going for a third when the car behind me honks.

Big picture, right? Who cares that my degree track just went sideways, my dishwasher is leaking, the roofer I hired after the last hurricane did a terrible job and I suspect that’s leaking as well, and my ex hasn’t paid child support in two months.

I’ll get past this obstacle like I’ve done every other. Tyler is healthy and his seizures are currently managed, and as much as I hate that he’s playing football, I know that he’s loving it. What kind of mom would begrudge that? Not this kind. Even though I worry.

My mom’s right. I’m going to enjoy tonight. I’m going to laugh with my friends who are also working the fundraiser, and I’ll be raising money for a worthy case.

Anything else this day wants to throw at me, I’ll simply swat it to the ground. Like the pesky issue it’ll probably be. I’m more than this hurdle.

Bring it, universe! It’s going to take more than topless sunbathing to bring me down!

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