Page 45 of The Jilted Lovers Club
“Not yet, little girl,” I say, trying not to freak out alongside her. So much for small wins—this feels like I’m taking the “L.” I sit her on the sink, holding her toilet water hands in mine and get to her level. “It’s okay,” I soothe, even though I’m certain those shoes are going straight into the trash. It’s too bad, I kind of like them. She quiets as I take a soapy washcloth and wash her hands, even laughing as I boop her on the nose with sound effects. Then, I sit her in the playpen, which is what I should have done to begin with. Once she’s quietly playing by herself, I clean up the bathroom.
As for my shoes, I really think hard about this one. These aren’t just any shoes. They’re ones Michael and Grace picked out for me. It’s silly, but that means something. It doesn’t feel right to throw them away.
I take in a deep breath, then let it out slow. There’s one person who will know what to do in this moment.
“Well, that’s a face I love to see,” Nina says on the other end of the video call. I hold my phone a little further away so that she can get the full view of my messy hair, makeup-free face, and probably a million lines of stress around my eyes. “I think you’re trying to prove something,” she says, laughing. “But all I see is a beautiful woman.”
“You’re my favorite cup of coffee,” I say. “Can you just wake me up every morning with your positive affirmations?”
“I’d be happy to, if you’d take my calls.”
Her tone is teasing, but it still stabs me just the same. She’s called at least twice since the last time I talked to her. To be fair, I was totally engrossed with work at the time she called. Nina’s never known for good timing, but I never called her back.
“I’ll get better about that,” I promise. She waves her hand.
“It’s fine. You’re just super busy building your empire. I knew you’d call me when you could.”
“Well, it’s for a reason. So, I’m babysitting right now…” I turn my phone to train it on Lottie, then back to me. Nina’s face is one of deer-eyed awe, her mouth scrunched into an aww.
“That has got to be the second cutest baby I’ve ever seen. What’s her name?”
“That’s Lottie, short for Charlotte. It’s a long story, but I’m watching her and realizing just how inept I am.”
“Oh, I doubt that.”
“Within the first ten minutes, she tried to flush my shoes down the toilet.”
“Ouch. It wasn’t the Manolo Blahniks, was it?”
I shake my head. “No, thank god. But it was a pair of Vans.”
Nina coughs then moves closer to the phone camera. “Uh, Vans? Who are you and what have you done with my cousin?”
“Hey, I wear casual shoes too.” Like when I’m at the gym. “At any rate, I don’t want to throw them away, but I don’t know how to clean them. You have Vans. Do you know what to do? Should I throw them in the wash?”
“Whatever you do, don’t do that. I did that with my first pair, and they not only shrunk, but they also melted a little.”
“Oh shoot. No, I won’t do that. But what do I do?”
“First, how bad was it? Was there anything left in the toilet?”
“No,” I say. “It was clean, except for all the bacteria living in there, waiting to jump on anything a toddler may toss their way.”
“Well, that’s good. What you can do is just fill a bowl with hot, soapy water. Not boiling, but hot tap water. Then let the shoes soak in there for a while. Afterwards, you can take a washcloth with soap and rub at them to get anything it might have missed. Rinse them again, then set them out to dry. They should be good as new.”
“So, I don’t need to throw them away?”
Nina laughs. “I mean, you’ll probably never forget they’re poo shoes.”
“Ugh, gross!” But I’m laughing too. “Okay, I think I can live with that.”
I settle onto the couch, watching Lottie play. She’s engrossed with some blocks, fitting them together, or just banging them on top of each other. “Tell me, what kinds of things do you do with June?”
“Well, she loves when I sing to her. I tend to sing about everything I’m doing when she’s in the room, and she gets the biggest kick out of it.” She then launches into a song to the tune of “Zombies” by the Cranberries: “What’s in your hamper, your hamper? Laundry, laundry, laundry-y-y.”
“Okay, okay, I get it,” I laugh.
“Hey, you gotta start the kids young if you want to introduce better music than Baby Shark or that damn Gummy Bear song Brayden thinks is so funny.”
