Page 39 of Pick-Up
“Cutie, Celeste and Jamie will. They’ll give you all your meals and snacks. And I’m actually going to the grocery store after drop-off at school tomorrow morning to get some of your favorite things and bring them over to Henry’s house.”
“You’ll get Cheerios? And Crispix?”
“I will.”
He grins, rubbing his eyes with his fists. Sleepy. I know he’s only minutes from dropping off to dreamland. “Yay! I love Cheerios.”
“I know you do, cutie. And I loveyou!”
I push myself to standing.
“Mommy, you’ll be home by Halloween?” Bart asks.
Nettie has asked me this multiple times too. Halloween is a big deal in our house. And I’m set to get home the night before, which gives me just enough time to prep everyone’s costumes the next day and head out to trick-or-treating.
“Yes! I would not miss Halloween with you for the world.”
“Promise?”
“Cross my heart and hope to… yes, promise.”
I bend back down and give him kisses on his cheeks and head and belly until he giggles and wriggles. He smells like apples and milk. He is scrumptious. I think we’re good—at least I hope we are. As I stand up and begin to pull the door closed behind me, he says, “Mommy, why do you deserve this?”
I pause in the doorway. “What?”
“Nettie said that. ‘You deserve this.’ What doesdeservemean?”
Sometimes I forget he is so young.
“Deservemeans that you’ve earned something.”
“Is that good or bad?”
“Actually, it depends. It can be either.”
“Did Nettie mean it in a good or bad way?”
“A good one, cutie. She was being kind to me. She was saying I’ve earned a fun trip. For me.”
Bart thinks about this for a moment. “I think Nettie is right,” he says, turning on his side and cuddling his Elmo stuffy close. “You’re the best mommy.”
The words settle over me like snowflakes. I close the door softly before I burst into tears.
On our way to drop-off in a cold drizzle, I know we’re late because Redhead Mom’s dog is leading the charge. And even he looks stressed. She is attempting to carry an umbrella and push a stroller at the same time, which I know from experience to be an impossibility. Her youngest child is in a bubble gum–pink raincoat with a face to match. She is wailing at top volume in the carriage.
Nettie sees what I see and knows what it means. She gasps. “Mom, I don’t want to be late!” she says, speed walking ahead. This is not how I wanted to say goodbye to my kids.
I am able to hug and kiss both of them before rushing them off into the recesses of the school. I take that as a win. And when they disappearand I look up and down the sidewalk, there are almost no parents to be seen. It’s deserted as if drop-off never happened. Even the usual procrastination crew who lingers on the corner has disbanded.
I head quickly to the supermarket before I plan to return home, close my suitcase and leave for the airport. Inside, it’s a cozy refuge from the storm, the dim lights and familiar stock of past-due produce, a hug.
My phone rings and I fumble for it, stuffing old-school earbuds (with wires) into my ears and repeating “hello” fifty times like I’ve lost my hold on reality. I’ve given up on the wireless ones. They always fall out. Celeste says I have abnormally small ear canals. I think everyone else has abnormally large ones.
Of course, it is my mom. Of course, on FaceTime. I tuck myself in a corner by the cold beverages.
“Mom, hi.”
She’s calling me from bed this time. Maybe she has just woken up, which is odd because she is generally an early riser. She’s leaning back against patterned pillows. It’s not a flattering angle—chin foremost.
