Then, just as things were getting really, really good, the doorknob jiggled—loosely. I instantly panicked that our miniature Hercules managed to open it before we found our underwear.
“What are you guys doing in there?” the annoying kid asked as he continued to fiddle with the door.
“This kid is killing me,” my husband muttered under his breath as he pulled up his boxers and reached for his shirt.
I opened the door to my son’s pinched brows. “I was all by myself out there. You guys left me.” He wasn’t crying; he was indignant. That’s what happened when your kid was attached to your hip whenever he wasn’t at school. Sure, he never said a word to us as he got lost in the world of videos and LEGO, but how dare we leave him in a room by himself! This was turning out to be a long and excruciating eighteen years with Il Duce. Although even the original of the most famous Italian dictators gave his parents a second alone once in a while. This one wouldn’t budge an inch.
I said the only thing I could, all while wondering if my shorts were on backwards.
“I’ll be right in, baby.”
I looked back at my husband and chuckled at his defeated laugh.
“Bathroom in a half an hour?” He quirked an eyebrow.
This child outsmarted his adult parents on a daily basis. If the frustration and fatigue didn’t make me so weak, I’d do a slow clap. Our son had a future as a lawyer. Since the day he started speaking, we’d had yet to win a single case.
Chapter 5
“What do you think?” I whispered to my husband as our son took the stage in costume.
“Hmm.” He nodded, his mouth curving in an impressed smile. “He’s a good berry.”
“Tomato.” I huffed. “Can’t you see the green stem with no leaves?”
“Meh. Tomatoes are round. This is more, not round. Like berry shaped.” He used his hands to show the oblong curvy shape of the imaginary berry in front of him.
“Well, keep your voice down! He’s supposed to be a vegetable!”
“Hey, your mom did a good job, whatever produce he is. Imagine if she wore her glasses when she did it? Maybe he’d be a pepper.” He kissed my temple and pulled me into his side.
I ended up taking off to work the front booth at the Earth Day Festival. Yes, it went from parade to festival, and now was the interpretative dance play. He didn’t know I’d be here today and I almost bawled at the pure happiness on his face when he first saw me. So what if I had to go in tomorrow at eight to make up the time. My life revolved around the expressions on my son’s face, both the aforementioned quivering lip and the Jack O’Lantern grin I was rewarded with.
“Oh, hey!” My son’s teacher whispered from behind me. “Thanks for helping out today. Your son is such a joy!”
I elbowed my husband at the guffaw that fell from his lips.
“Thank you,” I mouthed back while keeping my eyes on the veggie covered stage.
“I thought you’d like to have this.” She passed a paper over my shoulder.
I instantly made out my son’s atrocious handwriting and awful spelling. But he could read better than most of his class; I hoped in some universe that evened out.
It was a question and answer paper about me. My favorite show (Arrow, of course), my favorite food (chocolate, nailed it once again), and what I do at home (sneak around with Daddy behind a locked door).
Oh, Holy Mother of God.
My husband jumped when I slapped his knee. I shoved the paper at him and swatted his arm when he snickered.
“What was he going to say? Clean? He was being honest.” My husband cracked up as my cheeks heated. Great! Even though we snuck around because we were way undersexed, my son’s teacher thought I was an oversexed menace. If I was going to do the time, I’d at least like to have enjoyed the crime.
He tapped my knee and gave the paper back to me. I shook my head and shooed it away, not wanting anymore humiliation at a school function. He placed it on my lap and pointed to the last question.
“My mom is the best because she’s beautiful and she loves me.”
My eyes watered as I took a closer look. I lifted my gaze and caught my son walking off the stage, blowing kisses to me.
I would never be perfect. In fact, I’d always screw up more times than I could count.
Maybe my bed making abilities sucked, maybe I gave in more than I stood my ground, and maybe I shouldn’t hit the snooze button a bazillion times every morning.
But the most important thing, I had that nailed.
I loved my son with every single fiber of my soul—and every day, I made sure he knew it.
That is the one thing I’d never fail.
The End
About the Author
Stephanie Rose grew up loving words and making up stories. Being able to share them with readers is her dream come true. This lifelong Bronx girl loves Starbucks, wine and 80s rock. Her voice often gets mistaken for a Mob Wives trailer.
She married her prom date and has a seven-year-old LEGO obsessed son. She believes there is nothing sexier than a good guy who loves with all his heart, and has made it her mission to bring as many as she can to the page.
Find Stephanie Rose online at:
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Books by Stephanie Rose
Always You
Only You
Finding Me
After You
Intimate Strangers – a St. Helena Vineyard Kindle World Novella
Coming soon: Rewrite
#ThrowbackThursday
LK Collins
Copyright © 2017 LK Collins
Edited by Leticia Sidon
Proofread by Leddy Harper and Janice Owen
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owner.
To all the moms out there, this one’s for you!
#ThrowbackThursday
Scrolling through my Facebook feed, I see a new picture of my ex and his younger and—even I can’t deny it—fucking gorgeous girlfriend. It was taken somewhere in Barbados . . . and fuck it hurts. I always wanted to go to Barbados, but he’d never take me. He was always too busy working and fucking that whore.
I let out a deep breath and shake my head of the nasty thoughts that plague me. “Mom?” I hear my thirteen-year-old daughter, Annabelle, call for me from down the hall. I lock the screen on my phone and toss it on the bed. Then she is in the doorway of my room, wearing the most ridiculous outfit.
“Oh my God, honey, what did you do to yourself?” And her hair is a knotted and tangled poufy mess.
“It’s Throwback Thursday. Remember?”
I haven’t got the slightest clue what she’s referring to.
“Of course I remember,” I lie.
“Well, what do you think? Do I look eighties enough?”
“You do, honey.”
“Good, Polly and Suzy will be here soon, and then we can go. Don’t forget you’re a chaperone.” Shit, now it’s coming back to me.
“Yup!”
Sonofabitch.
Mr. Rogers is the nutbag, assistant principal at her junior high and a real pain in my ass. It’s not my fault he looks identical to the real Mr. Rogers. You’d laugh at him, too.
Getting off my bed, I automatically grab my phone. The second that it’s in my hand, the image of Tom and that girl fucking haunts me. Angrily, I toss it aside and venture into my closet.
Looking at all my clothes, I have no idea what to wear and wonder why I even agreed to chaperone.
I think I was drunk. No wait, I’m sure of it.
You’d think to be as old as I am, it’d be simple to find something from the eighties to wear, but it’s not. I didn’t keep any of that shit. The doorbell rings in the distance, and Annabelle hollers up to me, “I’ll get it.”
Frustrated, I decide on a pair of LuLaRoe leggings—they have a funky neon print—and peeking at me from the back of my closet is an old tutu from a Halloween party. I put on the outfit and pair it all with a black cami.
Fuck, I look ridiculous.
After using an entire can of hairspray and teasing my locks into a poufy mess like Anna’s, I head downstairs to see who’s here.
“Oh wow, Mrs. M., you look awesome,” Polly, one of Annabelle’s friends, says to me.
It’s Mizzzz, I wanna tell her, but I don’t. “Thanks, so do you.”
Annabelle rolls her eyes at me; I swear to God, that child hates me. She’s so hot and cold all the time.
“What? You don’t like it?” I ask.
“The parents aren’t supposed to dress up, Mom.”
“No?” I respond coyly and take the opportunity to sneak a quick drink. My nerves are shot after working all day at a job I barely know how to do. Then, I thought I’d get a night to relax, but instead, I’m bombarded with the news that I get to chaperone a bunch of fucking kids.
I head into the kitchen, then open one of the cabinets, and pull out my favorite to-go cup—these things are lifesavers. Thank God you can fit an entire bottle of wine in a Starbucks venti-size cup.
Hallelujah!
I crack open a bottle of white wine, looking into the living room to make sure the girls aren’t watching me. Then the doorbell rings again, and I turn my back to them while I fill my cup. The second I’m finished, I toss the bottle into the trash, and Josh, Suzy’s dad, is waving at me. Nervously, I sip my wine and return the gesture.
God, he’s hot and so fucking married.
Why couldn’t I snag a man like him?
“Wow, you look awesome,” he says, standing across from me at my kitchen island.
“Thanks,” I tell him, sucking the wine through my straw as if my next words depend on it.
“Erica and I really appreciate you taking Suzy. We are hosting game night, and you know how much Erica loves her game night.”
“No, problem,” I utter; I know how much Erica loves to host. I’ve been to her drag parties, and Lord help me if I have to fake it through another.
Josh has his hands in his pockets, flexing the corded muscles in his forearms.
Who has forearm muscles like that?
“Well, have a good night,” he says and turns, giving Suzy a hug and kiss on the way out.
I stand there with my cup in hand, slurping my straw in the most ridiculous outfit and wonder, how is this my life?
“Ready, Mom?” Annabelle asks, and I nod, wishing I had more wine to get me through the night or time to change and fix my hair. Oh well, surely I’ve gone out looking worse.
On the drive, the three girls huddle in the back seat. They are all quiet, and as we pull up to a stoplight, I type in ’80s Hits on my Pandora Radio Station app. As the first song comes on, I’m so taken back in time.
I turn up the song and lock eyes with Anna through the mirror. She shakes her head, mortified as I belt out the most ridiculous rendition of “Girls Just Want to Have Fun.” Polly and Suzy laugh hysterically, and I wish I could get the same reaction from Anna.
“Your mom is awesome,” Suzy says.
Polly agrees, adding, “Yeah, she is.”
I pull in front of the skating rink, and the three girls pile out from the back seat.
“Love you,” I call out to Anna, and she gives me a wave, which is better than nothing. After I park my car, I can’t bring myself to go inside. Not only do I look ridiculous, but who am I kidding? Anna doesn’t want me here dressed like this.
Before giving myself over to the pain in the ass, Mr. Rogers, I light up a cigarette and relish in the burn of the nicotine. Out of habit, I open my phone. That same picture of Tom and the whore stares back at me, and I wonder where my life went so wrong. Am I really that appalling that my husband found his secretary more attractive?
I sip the last of my wine and then get out of my car. After I drop my cigarette to the ground and step on it, I realize I have slippers on.
Of course, I do.
White, granny-like slippers.
“Hey, you gotta light?” someone asks, and I look to see a young man leaning against the building opening a pack of cigarettes.
“Yeah, sure,” I tell him and dig into my purse.
“You here for the ’80s night party?” he asks me.
“Yeah, you?”
“I work here.”
The guy must be in college and is sexy as hell. Chiseled jaw, messy hair, and abs that are staring at me through his thin white T-shirt.
“Is it busy in there?” I ask, passing him the lighter.
“Not really. The old douche from the school is riding my balls, so I had to step away.” He passes me his cigarettes, and I take one out.
“Does he have thin wire glasses?” I ask.
“Sure does.”
“That’s Mr. Rogers.” He lights our cigarettes and then passes me back my lighter.
“No shit? That’s why he looked familiar, I knew I’d seen him before.”
I chuckle. “He’s not the real Mr. Rogers, but they do look identical, and the name is just perfect. You can’t be old enough to have watched that when you were a kid.”
“I’m twenty-one; I saw that shit.”
I roll my eyes, remembering the days when I’d pretend I was older than I was. Now I’d do anything to be younger than I am. Being in my forties is no fucking joke.
Together, the guy and I smoke, resting against the cool brick wall. Without much more conversation, we finish our cigarettes and he asks me, “You wanna come in this way?”
“Sure,” I tell him, his green eyes are fucking captivating me.
“What’s your name?” he asks, opening the back door for me.
“Regina.”
“I’m Cole; it’s nice to meet you.”
“You too.”
He walks in ahead of me, and I follow him to the rink. The inside is filled with kids—a lot of kids—and I look around to see which parents are here and if any made the mistake of dressing up.
Nope, just me.
“Thanks for the light,” Cole tells me and squeezes the top of my shoulder. The simple touch from him alone sends tingles throughout my body. I haven’t had a man’s hands on me since Tom left eight months ago.
I smile, watching him walk off.
“Oh, heavens, Regina, I’m so glad you made it.” Mr. Rogers is suddenly all up in my face.
“Yup, I’m here. What do you need me to do?”
“Make sure these kids aren’t fraternizing too closely.”
“Anything else?”
“Nope.”
Really? That’s what he needs? That’s why I’m here?
Cole walks by with a tray full of sodas and gives me a wink. I can’t help but smile at him. But my smile changes to laughter when Mr. Rogers chases him down. Looking around, I spot Anna and her friends sitting on the side of the rink.
“What are you girls up to?” I ask, noticing they don’t have skates on.
“Nothing!” Anna shouts a little too loudly and then tosses her phone to Suzy.
“What’s going on?” I take a seat next to them.
“Just tell her, Anna,” Suzy says.
“No way.”
“Come on, your mom is like totes cool,” Polly chimes in.
“Yeah, I totes am,” I tell her.
She lets out a breath of air then says, “You guys tell her.”
“The boy that Anna is crushing on from school is here, and he just texted her.”
“Well, what did he say?”
“He said to meet in the photo booth in five minutes.”
“Where is he?” I ask.
“Don’t ruin this, Mom,” Anna begs me.
“I won’t, cut me a little slack.”
Then Polly says, “Don’t look now, but the table to the left of the photo booth, he’s the one with the blond hair.
Very cooly, I glance around, and when I look at the young boy with his messy surfer hair, he’s got his eyes on my daughter.
I glance at Anna, and she looks petrified, so I scold her, “Smile at him.”
She listens, and as she smiles, her cheeks flush.
“What do I do now?” she asks, and I notice she’s still staring and smiling awkwardly.
“Look away.”
“Where?” she asks.
“At us.”
My girl looks over at me with an expression I’ve never seen on her face.
“You really like him?” I ask her. When she nods, I tell her, “Then text him and say you want to skate together first.”
#MomFail: 24 Authors & 24 Mom-Coms Page 23