by Souders, Tia
“Mommy, I’m hungry,” Peter yanked on her arm, one step away from a full-blown whine.
“I know, honey, one moment,” she told him, then glanced back to Blake as if looking for answers.
Garwood’s cool blue eyes flickered to Blake’s face, and he guffawed. “You’re taking her money? Having her pay you? She’s a single mom of three with limited means for Pete’s sake.”
Blake noted the second the words struck and Mel bristled.
She swallowed, and her back straightened. Pushing her shoulders back, she said, “I’m capable of paying for childcare. Why on earth should he do it for free? Just because I’m single and have kids? I’m not cha—”
“I interviewed for the job just like everyone else,” Blake said, interrupting her before she could tell him she wasn’t charity. Who knew what Garwood would say to that? Oh, really? How about you visit the Section 8 housing booth? We have someone who will help you find a suitable place? Or the free hearing screenings? Need your blood pressure checked? Let’s do that for free, too.
The fact of the matter was that it had crossed Blake’s mind to refuse payment for watching the kids, but then he decided against it. Mel worked hard to earn a living. Even the suggestion would’ve been either an insult or suspect.
He turned his hard gaze to Garwood, but instead of shirking, Garwood sized him up like he always did with those icy eyes. The twist of his lips told him he found Blake lacking. That was okay. Blake was used to it, as long as he didn’t look at Mel and her kids that way—like they were less than because they didn’t vacation in the Hamptons and shop at Barneys or Bergdorf.
Garwood tilted his head and scoffed. “You were the best that she could find? I thought for sure you offered added incentive.” His eyes lit up like firecrackers at the insult, waiting for a reaction.
“Daddy,” Jen admonished beside them. It was the same old thing. Garwood insulted him, and later, Jen would apologize while insisting he was joking. You know how he is, she’d say. He has such a dry sense of humor.
“He’s actually quite amazing.” Mel’s voice eased the tension, slicing through it like butter, allowing him to look away from Garwood, back to her with relief. “I’m serious,” she said at Garwood’s dubious expression. “I’ve had a few these last weeks, and I can tell you that Blake is a natural with kids. Mine were struggling to adjust to life without a very important family figure, and they desperately needed structure, order, and someone to be strong while letting them be kids, and Blake has managed it flawlessly. In fact . . .” She glanced at Blake, the apples of her cheeks flushing, then averted her gaze again. “I’m not sure what we’ll do once he’s gone.” She placed a hand on Brady and Peter’s shoulders, glancing at them with affection. “The kids, well, let’s just say, even in such a short amount of time, he’ll absolutely be missed. So hold him to your bargain, because we’re not ready for him to go.”
Blake stared at her—this woman whom he had only gotten to know in fleeting glimpses inside her home. In one short conversation, she had managed to stand up to Garwood and subtly put him in his place.
“I will certainly do that.” Garwood cleared his throat.
“Mom,” Kinsley whispered, tugging on her shirt and pointing to the candy apple booth across the room. “They have red and blue.”
All the adults laughed, and Blake turned to Jen, feeling lighter than he had moments before. “Do you mind if I take them to eat? They’ve waited long enough. I think they earned it.”
“No. Go. I have a few more things to check on.” Jen beamed and knelt down to the kids. “Make sure you have him take you to the cotton candy stand. You get to pick your flavor, and they make it right in front of you.”
Brady’s eyes widened. “What kind of flavors?”
“All kinds. Any kind you can imagine.” Jen grinned.
Brady and Peter’s attention whipped to the cotton candy booth. “Then make sure you come back over here when you’re done,” she added. “There’s some more adult stuff on this side of the ballroom Mommy might be interested in.”
Mel nodded her thanks to Jen, as Blake quickly took Kinsley’s hand and whisked them away, having no intention of returning to “this side of the ballroom.”
“So what do we want first?” he asked as he stared down at three smiling faces.
“SO THAT WAS INTERESTING.” Mel picked at a funnel cake while the kids rode the carousel for what felt like the millionth time.
Blake sighed. “Yeah. Sorry about that. As I guess you’ve gathered, her father can be a little . . . intense,” he said, choosing to be nicer than he felt.
Mel waved at Kinsley as she road by, beaming on a pink and white pony. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, given who he is. Besides, any father who makes his daughter’s boyfriend leave his job to prove himself capable with kids must be pretty demanding.”
Blake snorted. Demanding. That was one way to describe him. “I think he means well. I mean, he’s a pretentious jerk, but he cares about Jen. That part of his concern comes from a genuine place.” As he said her name, he glanced back to the other side of the hall, feeling the slightest bit of guilt at his relief for the excuse not to stick around when her father was there.
Jen stood, clipboard in front of her, nodding as she spoke to one of the vendors.
“She’s beautiful,” Mel whispered beside him.
Blake’s attention shifted back to Mel, who had also glanced back to watch Jen. A soft, almost sad smile touched Mel’s lips, and her eyes held a kind of longing he wasn’t sure he could decipher—one that hurt to look at.
He swallowed. Something about the way she sounded and looked just now made his chest ache. Like her saying Jen was beautiful wasn’t only an observation but an acknowledgment of sorts. That Jen was beautiful, while she was not. He knew what she saw when he looked at her. It was the first thing he saw when he first met her, and the secret reason he worried he’d never be enough. Jen was like a polished crystal vase—beautiful, regal, more vibrant than glass, and shining in a way only money could buy—meant to be admired from afar.
“She is,” he said, but what he really wanted to say was that it wasn’t hard to be anything you wanted when you had the world at your disposal. But to say that would be an injustice to Jen, a betrayal, so he kept his mouth shut. After all, Jen was his girlfriend, and it wasn’t his job to defend Mel against her, even if it was only from Mel’s own inner thoughts.
Mel glanced back to him and smiled, this time, the gesture reaching her eyes and making them crinkle. She gave a little laugh and ate a bite of her funnel cake. “Sorry. I was just thinking how young she looked, which is silly considering we’re very likely the same age.”
“Probably.” Blake smiled, but it felt forced.
“When you’ve had kids and been through stuff like I have, like your husband leaving, I guess it ages you in a way that doesn’t always show in the lines on your skin or the wrinkles around your mouth. It makes you feel older up here.” She tapped the side of her head. “Even at work, with colleagues and my friends, it’s hard not to compare myself, to feel like I don’t stack up in a room full of my peers. Silly, I know.”
So she had been married. And he left. It was the first she had made mention of the triplet’s father, and the urge to ask more questions picked at him. But instead of a question, he said what he thought she needed to hear, “You more than stack up, Mel.”
Something flickered in those amber eyes, turning them to firelight. It was the closest he could come to outright telling her she was beautiful without stepping over a line. If he could, he would also tell her that Jen’s money didn’t make her better. The fact that Mel had been married and now had kids she raised on her own didn’t make her any less amazing. The opposite, in fact. It made her more, so much more. Because in a world full of selfishness, Mel chose three others before herself. Every day. She got on the subway for them, striving one small step at a time toward her dream—toward that newspaper clipping of the house, hoping, working,
wishing, and fighting for a better life for herself and her kids. It was more than Blake could say for his own parents who abandoned him. What would it have been like to grow up with a parent that fought for you instead of leaving you?
He opened his mouth to say something else when Blake, Peter, and Kinsley piled off the mini carousel and jumped into Mel’s arms with squeals of excitement.
“Can we get balloon animals?” Peter asked.
Mel ruffled his hair with her hand. “Sure. Let’s go.” She clutched his hand and turned, scanning the crowd.
“I’m not sure where they are,” Blake said, craning his neck. And then he saw it, right as Peter pointed them out, next to the informational booths.
“Over there! We saw it from the ride,” he yelled and gripped Mel’s hand as he half-dragged Mel and his brother and sister along to the booth.
Blake’s stomach dropped as he scrambled to catch up. He nipped at their heels as they neared the clown, with his giant red shoes and brightly painted face, making animals for the kids. And by the looks of it, the balloon making was partially a tactic to entertain the children as their parents received information from the nearby tents.
Blake shoved his hands in his pockets, saying a silent prayer and hoping to quickly get a balloon, then steer them away again, but the moment the kids stopped in front of the clown, Jen spotted them and glided over.
“There you are.” Jen’s hand slid down his arm, then to his hand, giving it a little squeeze.
Mel’s gaze drifted to where their hands met, then quickly away again. When she met Jen’s eyes, she smiled. “The kids are having so much fun. Thank you for inviting us.”
“Absolutely. We do this every year, and as we were getting ready this year, it just popped in my head. You know, I should have Blake invite the lady who he’s helping.”
Blake scratched the back of his neck, trying not to let Jen’s words grate on his nerves. Referring to Mel as the lady he was helping wasn’t only inaccurate but almost made it sound like he was doing Mel a favor. If anything, it was the other way around. He thought he made that clear to them.
Mel simply nodded and pressed her lips together, then turned to the kids who were patiently waiting behind a couple of other kids for their balloons.
“Actually,” Jen stepped toward her. “Here. You might want one of these.” She held a pamphlet out to Mel in her outstretched hand. “It has a list of all the vendors present today, as well as other places in the city that service underprivileged families.”
Bake squeezed his eyes closed. The air in his lungs stalled before he blinked them open again.
Mel’s gaze shot up from the outstretched pamphlet to Jen’s face, her eyes wide, mouth parted. “Uh. I’m sorry. What?” She shook her head and tucked her dark hair behind her ears.
At Jen’s perplexed expression, Mel’s attention drifted to the pamphlet once more, and she reached for it. The paper snapped as she took it and held it in her hands. Blake had half a mind to snatch it from her fingers. Instead, he watched her forehead furrow and her mouth move as she silently read off the names.
Jen, blind to the simmering tension rising off Mel like a rolling wave, prattled on. “Every year, we get all the best New York has to offer to help struggling families. It’s one of our most successful charity events of the year.”
All the blood drained from Mel’s face.
Blake shot Jen a warning glare, but she was oblivious. “We provide assistance in finding affordable housing, transportation, and information on WIC and other government subsidies.”
Blake clenched and unclenched his hands at his sides.
“...But we also have medical professionals here willing to do screenings and tests, all at no charge. We even help place parents in better jobs, and—”
“Stop,” Blake snapped, unable to take it any longer.
Startled, Jen glanced up at him. He pinched the bridge of his nose and whispered, “Please, just stop.”
Hurt flickered in her eyes before Mel, now sallow and pale, handed the pamphlet back to her with a shaking hand. Then she turned to Blake, her voice surprisingly steady when she said, “Is that how you see us?”
Behind her, the clown had started balloons for the triplets, and Blake thanked the heavens they weren’t listening. At least that was something. Not that they’d probably understand any of it if they were. “No. Not at all,” he said, injecting as much sincerity in his voice as possible.
“You see us as—as underprivileged? What else did she call us?” she asked, her voice rising an octave. She motioned to Jen. “Struggling?”
“No. Mel, I had no idea that’s what this was.”
Mel let out a huff of laughter, and he couldn’t blame her for not believing him. It was his girlfriends’ event, after all. He extended an invitation directly to her, which also meant she must’ve realized he had told them about her—about her tiny apartment with the torn couch and the broken closet handle and the walls in need of a fresh coat of paint. Despite her struggles, she was a far cry from a charity case, and he wished he could rewind to the day he asked her to come.
A moment passed in excruciating silence, the air around them loaded, each second thick with tension.
After a moment, Jen broke the silence, her blue eyes blinking up at Blake, then to Mel, her expression dubious. “I’m sorry. I just . . . I hope you didn’t think I was insulting you. But Blake told me about your little apartment, and how hard you work for it, for your kids, and I just thought . . . I assumed . . . I didn’t mean anything by . . .” Jen trailed off.
“You assumed that I was, what? Poor?” Tears Blake hadn’t noticed before shined in Mel’s eyes, despite her straight spine, her tilted chin.
Her defensive posturing was like a dagger to the chest, so he reached out, but she dodged him. Feeling useless, he shoved his hands in his pockets. “Nobody thinks that,” he said.
“Obviously, they do.” Mel turned to Jen and pushed her shoulders back. “You think just because I live in a one-bedroom apartment in Brooklyn and live paycheck to paycheck that I struggle? Well, I guess you’re right. I do struggle. Every. Day. I work for everything I have. And maybe it’s not much, but it’s mine. I earned everything I have, and I can still look at myself in the mirror every single day and know I tried. I did my best, and I managed to get through another day of giving my kids everything they need, everything I possibly can.”
“Of course you do. I’m sure you’ve worked very hard.” Jen shot her a placating smile, followed by a look of pleading to Blake. But all he could do was look away.
“Don’t condescend me,” Mel snapped.
It was the first time Blake had ever seen her angry. In the short amount of time he’d known her, he’d witnessed her joy, nerves, anxiety, fears, desperation, and frustration, but never anger. Not even when the kids’ behavior was at its worst.
“Do you even know what I do?” Mel asked.
“No. But Blake told me—”
“I’m the executive editor at PopNewz.”
Jen’s eyes rounded with surprise, and Mel grinned. “Yeah. Now do the math. Career-wise, I’m successful by most people’s definitions, envied even. But I got screwed with a crappy man who couldn’t stick around when things got tough, and here I am.” She waved her arms around them. “On my own. Struggling. But you know what? I’m not ashamed. Because I’m like most of the people in this city. I am not the exception. It’s the other way around. It’s people like you—the Garwoods”—she waved her hands around the ballroom—“that are the exception. Most people aren’t born into privilege with white gloves, gold-plated silverware, and a trust fund. Most people need to earn success, to work for everything they have.”
Jen blanched, and Blake felt the deep roots of shame staining his cheeks red. He needed to stop this, to do something. For both of them. “She didn’t mean—”
“Don’t.” Mel pointed a finger at him. Then she loosed a breath, her shoulders slouching slightly with the movement as if the gesture
drained some of her anger. “I may not have a penthouse suite or a fancy car, and the closest thing I own to a Louis Vuitton is the knock-off my mother gave me for Christmas last year, but I have three beautiful children.” She stared at them as she spoke, her voice growing thick. “They’re mine, and sometimes they’re a pain in the butt and drive me mad, but sometimes they’re also the one thing that keeps me going. They’re both the hardest and the best thing I’ve ever done. Everything I do is for them. And I’m not sorry about that. It’s something I can be proud of, even if I never own fancy things. I don’t need help. I struggle because New York is one of the most expensive cities in the world, and I’m on my own. But that does not make me or my kids underprivileged. We’re far from charity—not that there’s anything wrong with that. I respect families in need. We’re just not one of them. But here’s a tip,” she added, “even if we did need help, no one likes being referred to as charity.”
With that, she shoved the pamphlet back into Jen’s arms, leaving her gaping like a fish. Ushering the kids, content with their balloons, toward the exit. “Time to go.”
Blake stared after her a moment, torn between making sure Jen was okay and smoothing the waters with Mel. His feet itched to follow her.
He turned, likely to the detriment of his relationship, and said to Jen, “I’ll be right back,” then jogged after Mel’s retreating form.
He caught up to her in several strides and placed a hand on her shoulder. She stiffly turned, dismissing him with a shake of her head as she kept moving.
“I didn’t know. I swear. I only found out a few minutes before you got here. It’s why I tried to convince you to just leave, to let me take you guys out instead. I didn’t want you to think—”
“What?” Mel halted. “That you told her about my tiny apartment. How we all sleep in one bedroom and share beds? How my furniture has seen better days? Or how my cupboards are stocked with mac and cheese and soup instead of organic-everything from Whole Foods? What a sad little picture.”
Blake swallowed. He had no response to that. He had told Jen about some of those things. How Mel had three kids and they all shared a bedroom. How she was a single mom, and he suspected she was struggling, that money was an issue. Because that’s what boyfriends do—share the details of their lives, their day, with their significant other. But he meant nothing by it. And maybe it was wrong, but as he stared at the pain in Mel’s expression, it felt like a betrayal. To her. Which was crazy. He had no allegiance to Mel.