Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 89820 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 449(@200wpm)___ 359(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89820 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 449(@200wpm)___ 359(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
“I talked to the girl.”
I set him up in his bed, bringing a trash can over, in case he needs to puke again. “Who’s that, Bud?”
“Peyton. The girl I was telling you about.”
“Holy sh—shizzle. You did? My man.” I hold up a hand for him to give me five but he’s too out of it. “What did she say?”
“She said she’d think about it. But she’s going to be in my class next year. And she said if she was going to marry anyone, it would be me.”
“Hey, that’s good!”
He doesn’t seem nearly as excited as he should be. Then he starts mumbling some gibberish, which can’t be good. I feel his forehead, wondering what a mom would do in this case. It’s really hot. Do we have medicine? Unfortunately, I have no clue where the medicine—or his mom—is, and I’m woefully uneducated when it comes to these sorts of situations.
I go to the bathroom and rummage around the medicine cabinet, finding a bottle of children’s Motrin. I read the fine print on the bottle but the font is impossibly tiny and it may as well be in another language. I have no idea how much to give him. I don’t even know what he weighs. Forty-five, fifty pounds maybe?
I need Ellie.
In the reflection of the mirror, I notice the door to her bedroom is closed.
Walking across the hall, I crack it open to find it dank and stuffy inside. It also smells like stale beer and cigarettes. She’s in bed, face down. I creep over and hover above her form, trying to see any sign of life. But there is none. Her blonde hair is splayed over her pillow and her skin is pale.
My heart stops cold.
Until she lets out an enormous snore.
I exhale a huge breath.
“Hey,” I say, pushing aside her blankets to find she’s still wearing her clubbing outfit. She even has one shoe, still on. I nudge her. Then louder, “Hey.”
She moans a little.
I nudge her harder. “Your son is sick. How much Motrin do you give him? Or…”
I trail off. Maybe Motrin isn’t right? Can he have Tylenol? No idea if kids can swallow gel caps at this age or how much of that to give him.
Her left eye cracks open, and then she suddenly sits up in bed. “What?”
“Yeah. Hello? The school has been calling you. He threw up at recess.”
That startles her into action. “Why didn’t anyone…”
“Trust me. We did.”
Popping out of bed, she runs to the bathroom, grabs some medicine and heads into his room. The next thing I hear is her talking baby-talk to him, “Hey, baby, you’re not feeling so well? Let’s see if we can get you better!”
That’s good. The kid needs his mom. I’m a poor substitute.
With that handled, I go downstairs, take a seat at the kitchen table, and grab the binder. I open it and scan the first page, my eyes crossing as I start to read.
A little bit later, I’m about to get up and make some lunch when Ellie comes in, scrolling on her phone.
“Jes-us. You’d think that he was suffering with the plague for how many times they called me. Heaven forbid he sit in the nurse’s office for an hour.”
“You weren’t around,” I say evenly. “I had to clean up your mess. Again.”
“I’m doing the best I can. I’m working, at least.”
It’s true, she is. But Ted’s only gave her two nights a week. The rest of the time, she’s going out with friends. Guess who has to stand in and babysit? I turn to her.
“Listen to me. When you work, I watch Jace. But when I’m working, I need you to step up and be his mom. Half the time, you’re acting like someone with zero responsibilities. I don’t know what’s going on lately, but this has to stop.”
She snorts and sulks, just like a sullen teenager I accused her of being. “You want me out of here? Is that what you’re getting at?”
“No. I want you in here. But only because of Jace. If it was just you, I would’ve kicked you to the curb weeks ago. You’re acting like a privileged little snot, you know that?”
She cocks her head, arms crossed. “Would a privileged little snot work for crappy tips?"
“Two nights. Two nights a week, Ellie. That’s hardly working. Someone has to be the adult around here. I’m not having Jace suffer for your poor decisions.”
“Fine, Dad,” she mutters, storming off.
Sometimes that’s exactly how I feel.
I stalk to the fridge and open it, finding it empty. So much for Ellie going grocery shopping like she promised. I always leave her enough cash, and there’s a shopping list on the fridge, but does she ever take the initiative? No.
This is how my mom must’ve felt as a single mother with two kids and zero help, but at least she always made sure we got to school on time and had food in the house.