Page 26 of The One I Want
“She’s…” I trail off because I don’t know the answer. It’s not like she’s ever done anything that would make me concerned that she can’t watch my kids for a little bit. And Lord knows my kids are obsessed with her. Magnolia has even gone as far as saying that she’s prettier than any princess she knows. Which is a high compliment from a princess expert.
“She’s what?” Mom asks. “Come on, you must have a reason for wanting to stomp out of here.”
I still don’t have anything. In fact, the only thing I can think of right now is that damn pinky promise to not assume or judge. That and Betsy’s face when I gave in. That knowing smile she gave when she knew she had me. I haven’t told anyone, but I’ve thought about it more times than I should have.
And she’s right. I do assume. I assumed she didn’t want to hang out with them. I assumed her drink order. And I’m assuming right now that she can’t handle my kids.
I broke the damn pinky promise. But I’m not telling Betsy. I’ll never hear the end of it.
“Exactly,” Mom says, sitting on Emerson’s bed and patting the spot next to her. “Wes, have you thought about how you’re going to navigate things now that you and the kids are here full time?”
“Some,” I admit. “It’s just been so much, Mom. The divorce. The kids. Moving. And, oh yeah, I’m still playing football. We’re in the playoffs. I have at least two more months. Three if we make it to the championship. I don’t know if I’m going to be able to do it.”
I haven’t said any of this out loud. But it feels good to get it off my chest. Because every night before I pass out from exhaustion, I wonder how I’m going to be able to do it all again the next day. Then, somehow, I do.
I just don’t know how much longer I’m going to be able to keep going.
“You know you have us, Wes. And the boys, of course,” she says. “But you need help after school. And before school. I love you. You’re who made me a mama. But you’re just bad at doing little girls' hair, and my grandbaby can’t be going to school looking like she stuck her finger in a light socket.”
“It’s not that bad.”
She shoots me a look. “Emerson sends me daily pictures. Trust me, Wes. It is.”
Figures. And apparently I need to have thesnitches get stitchesconversation with Emerson.
“Besides that,” Mom continues. “The kids need a routine. And while I love them and I will watch them anytime you ask me to, they need structure. You need to hire a full-time nanny.”
I let my head fall back, letting my mom’s words sink in. She’s right. I mean, she’s always right. But she’s really right on this one.
I’m struggling, and while it’s going to get easier on the kids now that we’re here, it’s going to get harder on me. I have an extra commute into Nashville. By the time I get back each night, it will be nearly their bedtime. I don’t have time to help them with homework, or to make sure they have what they need ready for school the next day. And Mom is right. Shuttling them back and forth between our house and theirs isn’t going to help, even though we are now only two miles away.
But who? Is there a nanny service in Rolling Hills? Who could I trust enough to basically help me raise the kids while also getting along with them well enough that I don’t have to worry about things when I’m away?
Then it hits me. My conniving mother and her shitty poker face. I look over to her, only to see her trying, yet failing, to look innocent.
“Really, Mom?”
“What?”
“Don’t play innocent. This is why you left the kids with Betsy today, isn’t it?”
“I don’t know what you’re—”
“Don’t play coy with me, woman.”
She shrugs. “I’ve talked with Betsy a lot since she moved in. She’s good people, Wes. She has a good heart, and you know the kids love her. Plus, I think she’s a little lost. Trying to find her way. I think this could be good for her. It will be good forbothof you.”
So she thinks. I don’t think it’s good for me to be around a woman everyday who has taken up more brain space than I have to spare. Her and her damn smile.
“You want me to hire your neighbor because she’s good people? I love you, Ma, but you don’t have a bad word to say about anyone.”
“That’s not true. I think Gladys Mackey is an awful woman. She stole my cobbler recipe and tried to pass it off as hers. And I heard she asks to speak to managers a lot. I don’t have time for her kind of people.”
“Good to know,” I say with a slight laugh.
She pats my knee. “All I’m saying is talk to Betsy about it. You need help, and she does too. But don't go into it already assuming what she’s going to say. You have a bad habit of that. Did you know that?”
I smile. “Matter of fact, Mom, I was recently told that.”
