Page 23 of Secret Triplets, Second Chances
Mom:The packages have been secured.
Mom:Image
I waste precious seconds tapping on the image, watching as a photo of my three babies fills the screen. Aster, Chrys, and Daffy strapped in the back of my mom’s car, each with a muffin in their hands.
It’s like a photo taken right before a disaster hits.
Lara:They’re going to make a mess of those muffins.
Mom:That’s what vacuums are for, dear. Enjoy your shift.
My mom picks them up on the mornings when I have work and always takes them to the café before whatever fun, educational thing she has planned for them that day. Sometimes they spend the day at a museum, and my kids come back to me telling me facts about prehistoric fish.
Last week, my mom casually introduced them to one of her astronaut friends. He’d let them look at his memorabilia and showed them pictures from the station, and now Daffy is convinced she’s going to be the first woman in space.
“I’ll break it to her,” my mom whispered, eyes shining with admiration for her granddaughter. “Just let her keep this spark for a few days.”
I roll my eyes and shove the phone back into the locker, twisting the combination and hurrying out onto the floor.
“You’re late,” my supervisor says, glancing at me, then at the clock. I open my mouth to explain — that I have three five-year-olds to get ready in the morning, that it took me too long to change, that my SUV threatened not to start in the university’s parking lot — but I snap it shut, knowing she’s not going to actually care.
“Won’t happen again,” I promise.
“Mm-hmm.” She jerks her head at the nurse at the station, who looks like she’s barely able to stay on her feet. “You’ve got three beds in here right now. Run through rounds and report back to me.”
I go through rounds with the night nurse. She looks like she could lie down on the floor at any moment and go straight tosleep. I only know her vaguely from working together, and I know she has two kids of her own.
It’s always harder during the summers, when they’re home and you feel the loss of time with them. I’m lucky — I get to work three twelve-hour shifts and have the other four days a week free.
The unlucky part is that school and clinicals take up a big chunk of those remaining four days.
Still, it could be much worse, and I know plenty of nursing students with kids who don’t have the benefit of the built-in babysitter grandparents.
My shift flies past. We get two kids with sore throats heading for strep, a man who was building a tree house with his son and accidentally cut himself with a hand saw, and an older woman worried she might be having a heart attack.
I try not to think about that dad building a tree house. About where Jake and I first met. About the amazing tree house he could build for the kids.
What it would look like, watching them work together. Him teaching them all the important elements of building something well, making something safe and high-quality that would last. And I wouldn’t have to worry about him cutting himself with a hand saw.
By the time my shift ends, I’m practically dead on my feet and doing rounds with the newest batch of ED nurses.
The sun is still out as I drive home, and just like the last four years, it feels like summer held off forever before settling in so suddenly it takes me by surprise. I’ve gotten so used to it beingdark by the time I get off that it’s disorienting now to see the sun still up, kids running through sprinklers, grills sizzling, smoke rising up into the sky.
When I pull into the driveway at my parents’ house, it feels like coming home.
“My light!” my dad cries when I walk through the door. As if it’s a summoning spell, my kids come stampeding around the corner, squealing and attaching themselves to me.
“Hey!” my dad says, peeling them off jokingly. “I knew her first!”
He gives me a hug and runs a hand over my hair, then releases me. Aster wraps his hands around one of my thighs and Chrys around the other. Daffy has already disappeared again.
“How was your shift?” my dad asks, raising his eyebrows. “I bet you can’t wait to get out of the ED.”
“Yeah.” I laugh, closing my eyes and thinking about the three blissful months I spent in the obstetrics department. Of course, there were still high-stress moments, but the joy of seeing new life was enough to balance it out. “You’d win that bet.”
“Get in here!” my mom calls from inside the house, somewhere near the kitchen. “I made a caprese salad, and your father grilled up some chicken.”
I walk slowly with a kid on each foot, and my dad follows behind, giving me critiques on form before finally persuading them to let me go.
