Page 3 of Unexpectingly Happily Ever After

“Prosecco,” I correct. “Prosciutto is that yummy cured ham that Uncle Cooper wraps around asparagus that you like.”

“I don’t like asparagus,” Lucy announces. “It makes my pee smell funny.”

“Yes, it does that.” I glance around but the man has bolted. “Look, here it is. Come with Momma to pay, and let’s go to soccer.”

I can almost taste the dry, fruity taste of the prosecco sliding down my throat but I’ll have to wait for it. The one time I brought wine to the soccer game, it was suggested by the coaches that I take my wine and drink it in the car.

It wasn’t like I had been obvious. My sister Libby had bought me one of those handbags with the spout and the wine pocket, as a Christmas gift. I found it really worked with red Solo cups and a nice Gamay. And the

mothers I had shared the bottle with agreed it improved the game as well.

But tonight, the prosecco will have to wait. The plan is for me to take the kids to soccer, then race home where I have to snack, bath and bed them in record time, and then get myself over to Morgan’s.

Even after all these years, Morgan, Brit, and I still manage to get together quite often, although not as frequently as before. Now it’s more like every three weeks rather than weekly. Brit gets upset if we go longer than that.

Tonight we’re foregoing our dinner out to meet for dessert at Morgan’s house because her ten-month-old daughter has a cold and Morgan doesn’t want to leave her. A bottle of prosecco will pair nicely with the lemon torte Morgan is providing.

Not making. Morgan, as awesome a friend as she is, is not a good cook.

I head to the cashier. “Are we ready?”

Sophie crouches and begins running in place. I groan, knowing what’s coming and unable to stop it. “Soccer, soccer, soccer!” she chants, throwing up her hands and hitting Lucy on the chin. “Go, North York Blue!”

“Go, Team! Go!” Ben chimes in.

“Momma, Sophie hit me!” With eyes filled with tears, Lucy has a hand clamped to her chin.

I don’t have to look around to know every person in the store is watching us. It’s just how it is when I take the kids out.

“I know, sweetie. She didn’t mean it.” I draw Lucy in for a quick kiss. “She didn’t mean it. She’s just excited about your game. Which we have to get to.”

“Aren’t you excited?” Sophie bubbles.

“No. My chin hurts!” Lucy wails.

“I’m sorry.” Instantly contrite, Sophie throws an arm around her sister. “Feel better?”

“Okay,” Lucy says with a quick wipe of her eyes.

“She’s okay, Momma,” Ben assures me.

“I’m glad.” A quick glance of my Fitbit tells me our extra time before the game has now run out. “Let’s go. Go, team, go!”

“Go Blues!” Ben cheers and nudges Lucy.

“Go, team,” she says weakly.

Note to self–going anywhere before a soccer game is a bad idea.

“Can Icarry the bottle?” Sophie asks, for once asking politely rather than demanding. I hand the black bottle to her and grab another two for Lucy and Ben to carry. The Feria brand of sparkling wine is my favourite, so it’s not like it will go to waste.

“Careful,” I warn, but there’s no need. Before owningThricewith our friend Cooper, J.B. used to manage a bar, so the kids have grown up knowing bottles of alcohol are precious commodities.

Lucy leads the way to the cashier, holding her bottle proudly with two hands. It only takes a few minutes for the customer before us to finish his transaction, allowing the kids to carefully put the bottles on the counter.

“I can’t sell you these,” the cashier says, without a glance at the smiling faces of my children. He’s older with a pinched face and a receding hairline that’s borderline balding.

I’m trying to watch the kids at the same time as root through my oversized purse for my wallet, so it takes a moment for me to realize what he said. “I’m sorry?”

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