Page 28 of Insta [FAM]

I’m saved by his mother. “What a beautiful idea Holly, you and your mom can join us on Saturday afternoon. We would love that.” So, maybe not saved, but certainly thrown to the wolves. There’s no getting out of this, and I can see he is thinking the same thing.

“We would love to, thank you for the invitation, but we don’t want to intrude on the little time you have with Mika.”

“Nonsense, it'll be so nice for the girls to play. I have heard all about Holly-Anna.” I thought Aroha was a boy. Shows which one of us has three kids and which of us has one.

“I’m sure you have,” I say with a smile. “We would love to.” The girls squeal and jump up and down. Their excitement better be worth the awkwardness I can just tell is going to happen. I leave them to join my family.

“Play date, huh?” Amelia starts. “That’s what we are calling it now?”

“Bitch,” I say, but before I can carry on my mom steps between us.

“Stop it. You’ll embarrass Holly.” Holly doesn’t get embarrassed; did she not just see my kid on stage? “It’s good she’s making friends.”

“Except Dion is banging her friend's dad.” Amelia throws me right under the bus.

“You are not!” My mom sounds horrified. I just look at her, I can’t lie to my mother — she’ll know. Moms know. It’s what we do — drink wine and know shit. “Dion!”

“What, he’s hot, and single. I have needs. I’m divorced, not dead.” I shrug. “In my defense, I didn’t know they were friends though.”

“I can’t fault your taste, but really, a school dad? You love to bring the drama,” my mom sighs.

“I’m the drama. I don’t bring it — I am it,” I laugh, and so does Amelia.

“Dion.” Holly-Anna’s teacher sneaks up on me. “Do you have a minute?”

“She can’t now, I have to drive her home and I’m in a hurry.” Amelia saves me. Sometimes she’s not a shitty sister.

“I really can’t. You can drop me an email, maybe?” I say, stepping next to Amelia. “We have to get to work, Mondays are really not a good day to be out of the office. Next time, maybe plan that a bit better. Some of us moms have jobs,” I add for good measure.

“Sure, fine. I’ll email you. Again,” she says, exasperated. But three kids in, I know what she’s going to say, and I also know I don’t care to listen. Amelia and I say goodbye to our parents, who are enjoying this enough to stay. Then we take a detour through Starbucks, pick up my three-hundred-dollar replacement car key and head home to catch up with the morning's work.

It’s a fucking Monday-and-a-half by the time my kids are in bed, and I’ve had a bath. All I want is to sleep. But my stupid overactive brain won’t stop thinking about the way Mika looked at me at school today.

So, I do what any rational woman would do — I text him at eleven p.m.

Do you have time for a ‘play-date’ with me this week?

My message goes unread, maybe he’s asleep.