Page 3 of Christmas with the Baby Daddy

Leaving Reagan’s complaints behind me, I hurried George out of the office. Only once we were outside did I talk. “Do I even want to know?” I asked my five-year-old.

“I did exactly what you told me to do. What Jenny told me.”

I took his backpack, looking down into his blue eyes. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah. When he started making fun of me, I stood up for myself.”

“Good.” I nodded and smiled, opening the passenger door for him.

“Are you mad?” he asked in a cautious tone.

“Not at you.” I waited for him to buckle in before handing him his backpack.

“But you sound mad.”

I closed the door and rounded the van to get in the front. “I am mad,” I said, never wanting to lie to him like this. “But not at you. I’m mad that Brent is a bully. I’m mad that his mother doesn’t care if he’s a bully.”

“Jenny says he learns from the best.”

I laughed once wryly. “Oh, in that regard, he sure does.” I had no doubt at all that Brent learned how to be a jerk from his mother.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“For standing up for yourself?” I glanced at his reflection in the mirror as I drove off. “Never, ever be sorry to stand up for yourself.”

“For making you have to come get me. For getting in trouble.”

“You’re not in trouble.” Cole’s hands were tied, but he wouldn’t let George suffer any more than he did by being in Brent’s class.

Nothing would ever change, though. Reagan Francis was good friends with or related to every member on the school board. Despite that, Cole was on my side. So was the teacher. There would never be a solution to how the Francis family had power in town, but I wasn’t alone in this fight. Other parents complained about Brent too. Multiple teachers documented what a terror Brent was in the classroom.

“It just stinks that I’m missing out on work.”

“I thought you’d be done early today.” George sulked with clear disappointment, breaking my heart. “I was hoping we could make pizza tonight, like you promised, and play Uno before bedtime.”

I nodded. “Well, that was the plan. I still need to go to the store for the party we’re catering tomorrow. How about we stop at home so I can throw your uniform in the washer? You shower to get that paint out of your hair, and then you can come to the store with me.”

He brightened. “Okay, Mama. I’ll help you.”

“Thanks, buddy.” He always wanted to help, even at West Catering. My love for this boy would never fade. “I love it when you help me, but I would much rather you be at school where you can learn and have fun.”

He shrugged. “I’m not sad to be missing this afternoon.”

“Oh, yeah?” That’s weird. He loved school—other than putting up with Brent. “What were you working on today?” I turned down the faint sounds ofRocking Around the Christmas Treeon the radio to make sure he knew he had all my attention.

I was grateful that he was so smart and applied himself no matter what. Sooner or later, he’d be of a testing age so that they could put him in a gifted class and avoid Brent. Creativity was George’s strong suit. He was a skilled artist, drawing better than any adult I knew, but he had plenty of book smarts. He was so smart that I knew I wouldn’t be able to keep up with him if I were to homeschool him.

“We’re working on that one project today.”

I frowned as he stared out the window, dejected. He loved having a challenge. “Which project?”

Another glance in the mirror showed me his deeper frown. It was just the two of us, me and George against the world. He never avoided making eye contact with me like this.

“Which project, honey?”

“The family tree,” he replied in a tiny voice. Still, he didn’t face forward, and it broke my heart.

“That’s why Brent was bothering me. He made fun of me for not having a dad.”

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