Page 102 of How to Kiss a Hawthorne Brother
An early fall breeze stirs the first of the fallen leaves at my feet and presses my still-damp shirt closer to my skin. I shiver, wincing away from the chill, then wince again when a shot of pain radiates out from my ribs.
Maybe I’m notcompletelyunscathed.
But Olivia isn’t going to win this fight. I can manage my life—my business—without anyone else trying to tell me where I need to be and what I need to be doing.
My nosy sister can live her life and let me live mine.
Chapter Two
Lila
So help me, ifmy child doesn’t get his hind end into the car right this minute, I am legitimately going to lose my ever-lovin' mind. I pinch the bridge of my nose and force a deep breath. You’d think the child has rocks in his shoes for how slow he moves. So far, we’ve been late more than we’ve been on time. It’s hard to be annoyed by it. He’s so perfectly precious with his giant backpack and his fierce determination to do everything himself. But if I get one more patronizing smile from the lady at the desk while she hands him yet another tardy slip . . .
“Jackson!” I yell one more time. “We’ve got to go!”
My adorable five-year-old comes strolling into the living room like he’s got all the time in the world. He’s only wearing one sock, his hair is sticking up in the back, and he’s got two different shoes in his hands. “I was looking for my library book,” he says. He plops down on the couch and collapses onto the back cushions with a sigh. “I can’t find itanywhere.”
My mom senses start tingling. I know that voice. He’s trying to convince me of something, which means he probably hid his library book and is only pretending he can’t find it.
I drop my purse by the door and walk over, grabbing the missing sneaker from under the ottoman and swapping it for the loafer I suppose he thought he’d wear in its absence. I put on his shoes, tying them myself despite the mom guilt telling me that if I don’t lethimtie his shoes, he’ll never learn how to do it.
“I guess you’ll have to tell the librarian it’s missing,” I say.
“But then she won’t let me get a new book,” Jack says.
I nod. “Yeah. That’s too bad. You sure you don’t know where it is?”
His eyes get all shifty, and my heart squeezes. It’d be easier to stay mad over all his stalling tactics if he weren't so cute.
“What if I stay home with you?” he says, his voice a little smaller than it was before.
I expected my generally sunshiny outgoing kid to like school, but for whatever reason, he’s having some separation anxiety. Maybe because as long as he can remember, it’s mostly been the two of us. We’ve left the tears behind, and we’re to the point now where he only needs a little encouragement to go. But he’s a master negotiator. If he thinks there’s a way out of kindergarten, he’ll do his best to find it.
I finish tying his shoes and scoot onto the couch next to him, pulling him into my arms. “We’ve been over this, Jack. You gotta go to school. But I’ll be here waiting for you when you get off the bus. I promise. If you’re good, we can walk over to McFarlan’s and get a cinnamon roll.”
If we’re embracing the mom guilt today, I might as well go all in. I’ve already got a truant child who can’t tie his own shoes. What’s a little bribery going to hurt?
Jack breathes out a weary sigh that makes him sound fifty instead of five. “Okay.” He scoots off my lap and takes off down the hallway. “I’ll be right back.”
That child might look like his daddy, but he’s all me on the inside.
There’s nothing I won’t do for a cinnamon roll either.
Plus, Jack is generally sweet like me. Optimistic. As tender-hearted as they come.
On the other hand, his dad was . . . well, he was . . . this part is always tough.
My Southern upbringing taught me not to speak ill of the dead, a rule doubly true when the dead in question was a fighter pilot in the Navy and died serving his country. Nobody speaks poorly of a military hero, especially not his widow, so I can’t ever talk about the way things really were at home. But maybe that’s better. I feel guilty enough even just thinking these thoughts, let alone saying them out loud.
We pull up to the drop-off forty-five seconds after the teachers close down the car-rider line. I jump out, waving at the gym teacher who is ushering the last kids through the big double doors that lead into the cafeteria. I gesture and point at Jack, hoping he’ll come and open the gate for me so I won’t have to walk him into the office, but he frowns and points at his watch.
“It’s not even 8:01!” I call. “We’re still on time!”
Jack tugs on my hand. “We could just go get that cinnamon roll now.”
“Nice try, kiddo,” I say with a sigh. “Come on. I’ll drive around to the front and walk you in.”
The front desk lady buzzes us through the door, then stares, her face set in a perpetual frown as I use a fancy touch pad to sign Jack in. I don’t know why the woman and her judgy expression even need to be here. The computer’s doing all the work. I offer a polite smile while the tiny printer next to the touch pad spits out a tardy slip with Jack’s name on it.
