Page 7 of The Stand-In

“Don’t dillydally! I mean it, buddy. We have to go.”

“I’m coming,” he says from the other side of the door. Hearing the toilet flush and the water come on, telling me he’s washing his hands and brushing his teeth, I make my way back downstairs to finish packing his lunch.

It’s already been a crappy morning. I slept through my alarm because I was up into the wee hours of the morning, making my way through my email.

I didn’t even get halfway finished before I couldn’t keep my eyes open any longer.

My toaster oven gave up the ghost, but not before burning my English muffin first, and when I pulled the milk out of the fridge for cereal, I found that it had expired.

If this is indicative of how the day is going to go, I should just call in sick for both Caleb and me and enjoy the day with him.

But responsibility weighs heavily on my shoulders, and I know that we both have places to be today.

So, work and school it is for Team Ambrose.

“Where are your shoes and socks?” I ask when Caleb makes his way into the kitchen. “And you didn’t comb your hair.”

“No one cares if my hair is combed,” he says with a negligent shrug.

“Icare. Buddy, we areso late.Please get your socks and shoes on.”

“Fine.” He stomps to the mudroom, and I can hear him shuffling around in there.

“I would give my kingdom for a kid who’s a morning person.”

“I am a morning person,” he replies as he returns to the kitchen. “Just not when I have to go to school.”

“Don’t you like school?”

“It’s fine.” He shrugs again and accepts the foil-wrapped breakfast burrito I pass him. “But why does it have to be in the morning?”

“Good question. One I don’t have an answer for. Come on. We need to get our shit together and get out the door.”

“You said shit.”

I stop and close my eyes, counting to five. “Yes, I did. And please don’t say it again.”

“Why can you say it, but I can’t?”

“Because I’m a lot older than you, kiddo. Come on. Let’s go.”

He always moves slowly when I need him tohurry.

When I see that he’s buckled in, I put the car in gear and back out of the garage, then head for the school.

We have to wait for the gate to rise at the entrance to the neighborhood, and after waving at Harold, the security guard, we’re off.

“Mom, what did you study in school? You know, in the olden days?”

“It wasn’tthatlong ago,” I reply and give him the mock glare in the rearview, making him giggle. “I studied the same things as you. Math, spelling, reading. The usual stuff.”

“Weird.”

God, I love this kid. No matter how my day is going, he can always make me smile.

“Here you go,” I say as I pull up to the drop-off spot in front of the school. “If you hurry, you’ll get in there just before the bell.”

“I forgot my lunch.”

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