still clinging in desperation to the metal. A harsh version of her eight-year-old son’s name slid to a stop as she looked up to find his father sweeping into the room and catching all three kids’ instant attention. Within seconds, they crawled all over him with ear-piercing screams of, “Daddy,” as he let them hang on his arms like monkeys.
Shoulders slumping in defeat, she experienced a wave of regret capturing her tired body. They never yelled out for Mommy with enthusiastic joy, anymore. He was the fun one. Not her.
They hate you. Shut up. Just shut the hell up.
Mary fought against helplessness trying to sink a few claws and forced her focus on the love of her life.
Without doubt, Jason’s presence commanded a room now. He’d been a skinny little shit in grade school when they’d first met, began a delicious fill of his frame during high school, and formed into the now present beefy, muscle-packed Adonis built from manual labor down at the plant. Tanned skin and a gorgeous mane of brownish-gold hair looking wind-tossed perfect brought a sigh of appreciation. He only got better with age.
You don’t match anymore.
Head shaking at the random thought, a prickle of anger worked its way through her chest.
So unfair. Why can’t the man be the one trashing his body to hell and back while bringing new lives into the world?
She craved rocking a pair of low-cut jeans instead of the ugly black shorts always grabbed on the most ardent water-retention day. A loose waist and ability to cover what she teased as hail-damaged thighs became their one true draw for continued use.
Forced to look away from Jason’s gunmetal-gray eyes and handsome face before the building rage consumed every thought, Mary chewed on her bottom lip to divert the internal pain.
Whatever. It is what it is.
She flipped the errant spoon into the sink, retrieved the ruined dishtowel, and slapped the soggy mess on top of the table. On a long breath with no intention of hanging around in her lungs any longer, Mary pushed the sugar mound closer to the ridiculous amount of milk the tiny devils spilled from their cereal bowls during a mock battle on the high seas.
Negative into a positive, Mary. No use crying over spilt—Jason’s kiss to her left temple, quick squeeze on the right butt cheek, and husky voice broke her thoughts.
“Morning, babe. Whoa. You look tired. Rough night?”
She stared at the sugar soaking up rapid spreading liquid and nodded.
“Maybe. Think I got up a few times, but nothing major.”
“Try to catch a nap this afternoon, if you can,” he suggested in a sweet tone.
She suppressed a snort.
Not going to happen and not enough hours in the day to make an impact.
“Hey, I’m going to the grocery store after I drop off the kids. Need anything?”
“Thought you went Monday?”
“I did. Forgot a few things.” She glanced up as he planted their rambunctious five-, seven-, and eight-year-olds back on their chairs. They always stayed put for him without need of a hairy eyeball toss or verbal threat. Full smiles and perfect behavior presented a happy family portrait.
Guess it’s a guy thing. Three boys. Geez, when did I piss off the fertility gods?
“Nivea.”
“Huh?”
“Grab me some hand lotion,” he said while flashing a gorgeous smile. “The good kind. My cuticles are cracking. Hate that shit.”
“Oh sure.”
He chuckled and jangled his keys. “I’m running late. Couldn’t find these stupid things. Knew I lost my damn mind when I found them on the closet floor, of all places. Weird, huh?”
“Yeah, weird,” she muttered. Mary handed over his lunchbox, accepted the quick peck on the forehead, and caught familiar words thrown over his shoulder as he shoved out the front door.
“Overtime again tonight. Have dinner ready at five. Need to leave by six. Love you.”
He was gone before, “You too,” hit the air. Mary turned back to the table and steeled herself for the inevitable. Daddy’s departure signaled return of complete and utter chaos. Too tired to raise her voice, she stuffed a lunch sack into each backpack and hustled the brood out the door.
Four steps away from the minivan, Mary caught sight of the newlyweds deciding to make the cul-de-sac their home last weekend. Anna Beth and Daniel Burns. Yoga instructor and the new high school football coach respectively.
What a gorgeous, perfectly matched couple. Even their blond hair’s the same color.
While returning their animated wave, she wondered if they’d already screwed in every room and on every piece of furniture like she and Jason had done when they were young and eagerly staking claim to their new home. She frowned.
Good grief. Thirty’s not old, you moron.
Halted in her tracks, she fought a sudden urge to run across the street, snatch Anna Beth by enviable, toned upper arms, and pass a bit of wisdom—don’t have your first one nine months in. It changes you.
“Mom!”
“I’m coming. I’m coming.”
Mary crawled up on the seat, confirmed the little heathens remained buckled in, and began the usual morning mind chant while backing out of the drive.
Two blocks. Piece of cake. Just focus.
Too many late nights watching Forensic Files led her and Jason to agree the kids would never walk to school. There were too many freaky people out there these days. It wasn’t like when they were little. God, she missed those easy times. Memories of riding her Schwinn along winding paved roads, sun warming her shoulders, and soft breeze whipping through unbound hair as she learned every nook and cranny of her peaceful neighborhood lifted her mood. The pleasant smile morphed into a smirk.
Nowadays, most kids stayed inside to play video games or wreck their rooms. A good parent never trusted leaving them in the backyard for fear of discovering them snatched by some sick pervert. She shivered at the thought.
Ecstatic to find an open slot at the curb in front of the school, Mary didn’t bother turning up a cheek for a kiss. The oldest stopped years ago, and adoring younger brothers soon mimicked his actions. As the last door slammed shut, she continued staring at the dashboard’s digital clock clicking away precious time, performing a mental calculation of how many hours remained before the noise came back and drove into the base of her skull like an icepick.
Brow creasing on a steady crunch, she mumbled, “When did I lose control of them? They were so goddamn cute when they were little.” It had been so easy to haul them around in their car seats. Now their sweet little pudgy fingers grew long enough to ball up and bash the crap out of each other or flip a seat belt to fly all over the car. She knew she shouldn’t let them off the hook but running into a guardrail to keep them from killing each other wasn’t on her agenda anytime
