Page 15 of Even After This
“I wasn’t thinking about your children.” I offer a small smile. “I was thinking about how hard it is to be a mom of little ones.”
“I’m a mess.” She murmurs the confession on a sigh. Her tears slow, and she takes the diaper I hold out for her, slips it under Layla, and secures the tabs.
“Did you feed your kids today?” I ask.
Sally blinks.
I hold up a clean, ruffled replacement romper I found in the diaper bag. “They’re obviously clothed in appropriate attire. So you dress them too.”
She opens her mouth, but nothing comes out.
“That’s all that’s required of you,” I say, rolling up the wet diaper into a ball. “Feed them, clothe them, keep them safe. Some days, accomplishing those three things is all you can do. And, Sally, that just has to be okay. You’re doing an excellent job.”
Slumping over, she shakes her head in her hands. “We met two minutes ago. You don’t know that.”
“Now, Miss Layla, I think you’re all set to go.” While she holds my hands, her chunky feet find the floor in an effort to stand. Layla gives me the sweetest two-tooth smile, wobbles, and falls on her baby bottom with glee.
Toby continues to rip the Jeep brochure apart as if his life depends on it, his little-boy brow furrowed in concentration.
“Toby and Layla can’t tell you this right now,” I say, “but they’re so glad you’re their mommy.”
“Being a mom is an impossible job. It feels like any mistake will send my kids straight to therapy.” Using the back of her hand, Sally brushes a lock of hair out of her eyes. “Do you have kids of your own?”
It’s an innocent question. A natural one, really, from what’s just unfolded. But I can’t. It will change everything. “Oh, let’s focus on yours. I’m on vacation.”
Sally shifts her attention to the wet area covering a fourth of her belted, pale-green sweater dress, then looks to me, a little panic-stricken. “We were going to the hotel movie theater. My husband, Spencer, is here on business and the company organized several family activities, but now I’m covered in tinkle.”
“Here.” I remove and offer my pashmina. “Use this to cover the spot. Then head to the bathroom just outside the theater. The stalls are stocked with body spray. No one will have a clue.”
She looks at me, awe filling her eyes. “Are you a superhero?”
I blink. Superhero? A lump forms in my throat as something dawns on me.
I’ve been useful to someone.
The realization feels more than sweet. It’s thick with meaning.
Yessssss.
I thought my purpose, my worth in this life, had been swept away with my cataclysmic loss. Who am I if I’m not a wife or a mother? But helping Sally chisels away at the falsehood.
After draping the pashmina over her shoulders, Sally scoops up Layla and grabs Toby’s hand.
I take her in from head to toe. My black scarf coordinates with her dark knee-high leather boots as if the entire ensemble came from her closet. “You look perfect.”
She flashes a smile at me as I pass her the diaper bag. “We’ll be done around five. Can I treat you to dinner for helping me? We can meet in the mezzanine.”
Sharing a meal with a new friend. Who has young children. The thought doesn’t hurt nearly as much as it usually does.
In fact, the thought feels warm, like it could be safe for the first time in a long while.
Shut up. Shut up. Shut. Up.
The torturous, beeping alarm badgers me out of a deep sleep. My hand blindly slaps the side table until I annihilate my target. Lifting up my sleep mask, I lean over the bed and peer down at the injured clock on the floor.
“Ugh.” I roll to my back and stare at the ceiling. Details from the day trickle through my memory. House shopping with Prissy. An unfortunate mention of Harlan Holcombe. Sally, Toby, Layla, and the blowout. A monster nap.
I blink. Sally. I’m supposed to meet Sally and her kids for dinner.
