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“I’m so sorry. I’ve been given the opportunity to work a few extra hours at the bar.”
“The bar isn’t open on Sundays.”
“Walker is letting me organize the office,” I explain.
“Is he?” She says it in a way that makes me think she thinks I’m not being exactly truthful about what I’ll be doing today. “So, you’re taking Larkin with you?”
“Heavens no. I’d never get anything done. I’m going to have to leave her at Nora’s.”
I hate the idea of making that call next.
“Bring her here instead,” Madison says. “She can still have a good time even though Mommy has to work.”
“I couldn’t,” I tell her, still feeling guilty from doing it two weekends ago. “We made plans and I can’t make it. It doesn’t feel right.”
“I’m not going to be able to explain that to the boys in a way four-year-olds can understand,” she says, and it makes me feel even guiltier.
I’ve learned to stop telling Larkin what my plans are because I’ve had to change them so often it started to make me feel like a jerk. I couldn’t bear to keep seeing the sadness grow in her eyes. I don’t want her memories of me to be of the type of mother who promised one thing and then had to do something else.
“I can keep her until you’re done at the bar, so we don’t have to make arrangements for Nora and Leo to come pick her up.”
Her offer really sweetens the deal because Nora complains when I have to make changes. At the same time, I think she loves it because she gets to tune into that judgmental side of herself that never seems far away when I’m involved.
“And when Adalynn gets back from her honeymoon, we can have a girls’ day. We can spend it bitching about all the people in town who get on our nerves.”
“Not enough hours in the day for that,” I mutter, but her offer makes me want to see if that’s something Kristina would like to do as well. Kristina has more help in her life, but single parents never get much free time for themselves. When we do, it comes with an abundance of guilt.
Her laugh is good-natured. “So go grab that sweet girl from the Kennedys’ house and bring her over here. I’ll see you shortly.”
She ends the call before I can argue, and I know there’s a purpose to that. She’s helping me by not giving me time to come up with another excuse because this situation makes me feel like I should argue against it. Kids are a huge responsibility, and at their age, they can’t just be told to go have fun. They require nearly constant supervision and that’s exhausting with one kid. I can’t imagine how she does it with three.
There’s a thrill of excitement in me when I head to Nora’s house to get Larkin. So much so, that I don’t even let her dig into how I’m raising Larkin get under my skin.
When she tells me that I look tired, I just smile and crouch down, wrapping my arms around Larkin when she throws herself at my chest.
Once in the car and on our way to the Graves Estate, I let Larkin in on the plans. She’s giddy to go back, but instead of talking about her fun with the boys, she goes on and on about their Husky Nanuk.
I know there will come a time when I’ll have to disappoint her when she asks for a pet, but hopefully she gets enough attention from their dog that it’ll hold that question over until she’s old enough to understand that saying no isn’t out of spite or power. The duplex contract I signed strictly forbids animals, but even if they allowed it, we’re not home often enough to care for a pet. Nora would have a coronary if I mentioned dropping an animal off when I drop Larkin off.
I studiously avoid looking at the area of the yard where I left my car parked last week as I drive around the circular driveway and park in front of the house.
I told Walker what we’d done was over and he complied. I have to accept it for what it is, and that it’s best for both of us if we keep our relationship simple and professional.
The yard and front of the massive house looks like it did the first time I came, and although the fairytale decorations are gone from last weekend, the home is still very stately and full of grandeur.
I’ve never even imagined living in a house this large. Someone would have to clean it, after all, and I have no interest in spending hours and hours scrubbing baseboards and chasing after the dust that settles on every inch of the blinds.
“Nanpup!” Larkin screams, her voice filled with joy when I pull her from the car seat and place her feet on the ground.
The dog runs to her. I cringe thinking he’s going to knock her over, but he stops short and licks her face.
She squeals in delight, and I can’t help but stand there and watch the interaction.
It’s how Madison finds me when she steps out onto the front porch.
“She doesn’t get out much,” I say, half-joking when my little girl sits right in the middle of the porch and lets the excited dog run circles around her. “I should really have her in daycare so she isn’t so feral.”
Larkin squints her eyes as Nanuk’s wagging tail comes close to her face with every orbit he walks around her.
