Page 3 of Wicked Proposal
Now, though, the left toe is split open, foam peeking through like guts. I see his socked pinky toe wiggling in the gap.
“Eli, honey…” I kneel, thumbing the tear. “What happened?”
He shrinks down and mumbles, “Nothing.”
I drop to my knees and clutch him close. “You know you can tell me anything, right?”
He keeps squirming, refusing to look at me. That lower lip starts to pout out and tremble, and my heart picks up some trembling of its own. “Some kids at recess… They said I run like a robot.”
“And?”
“And they thought it’d be funny to tie my laces together.” His chin quivers, but he drags his eyes up to mine. “I didn’t cry, though! Not even when Mrs. Alvarez had to cut them apart.”
My chest tightens. I feel all the single mom feelings, same as I always do in situations like this.
Rage at the unfairness of it all.
Fury toward the world that lets such cruelty go unchecked.
Sadness and crippling guilt because I can’t be there to keep my baby safe every minute of the day.
But when I see him watching me, waiting to see how I respond, I do the same as I always do in situations like this: force myself to grin, so he knows that he’s loved.
The rage, fury, sadness, and guilt are for me.
My son gets only my love.
I wink at him. “Guess we’ll have to get you rocket boots next time then. Blast those haters to the moon.”
Eli’s eyes light up. “With lasers?!”
“Obviously! Now, go help Auntie Kallie with the popcorn before she burns it again.”
As he scrambles off, tears forgotten, Kallie sidles over and hip-checks me with a sympathetic smile. “Long day?”
“Aren’t they all?” I dig the heels of my hands into my eyes and sigh. “Shoes will be the death of me, I swear.”
“Don’t stress it, Mama,” she reassures me. “I’ll hit up the Buy Nothing group tomorrow. Someone’s gotta have a size eleven.”
“He’s a twelve now.”
“Shit.Boy is growin’ up fast.”
“Language, Kal.” I point my chin at Eli, who is now enthusiastically shaking the microwave bag.
“Right. Uh, shizz.” Kallie lowers her voice. “You okay, though, for real?”
“Peachy. Just need to pick up three extra shifts, sell a kidney, maybe start an OnlyFans?—”
“Ooh, that’s a good idea. Men love a girl in scrubs.”
I snort as I look down at the murky stain on my thigh. “They sure do. My last patient tonight loved ‘em so much he peed on me.”
“Hm. On second thought, how much do kidneys fetch?”
“Mommy!” Eli shrieks with laughter as he holds up the bag, kernels exploding like gunfire. “It’salive!”
Half an episode ofBlueylater, I’m perched on Eli’s bed, tracing constellations on his palm. His eyelids keep drooping andstruggling open as he fights sleep for as long as his stubborn little heart will let him.
