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“Well, you don’t need to do that,” Maryanne says. “How about if he wants to see the nest, I need to be there to watch over him?”
“Perfect.”
“You’re a great person, Piper. I’m going to head out back again.”
“Good luck,” I say, crossing my right pointer and middle fingers.
Maryanne moves like a private investigator about to catch someone cheating on their spouse.
I shake my head and reach for my coffee mug.
I look at the pictures and text, then smile.
I LUV MOM
FROM SAXIN
With two stick figures. A beach ball. And a sun spitting fire down at me.
Such a perfect fitting Mother’s Day gift from my son years ago.
Yes, he spelled his name wrong on the coffee mug, which made the gift all that much more perfect.
(And it also proved to me how much of a moron my ex was and still is… can’t even supervise long enough to make sure our son spells his name right?)
What did I do when Saxon gave me the mug?
I did what any mother would do.
I loved it. And I still love it. It’s my favorite coffee mug.
My coffee is cool now, which is awful.
I am not one of those iced coffee people. For me, coffee is meant to be tongue sizzling hot. Anything other than that and just give me a glass of water.
Well, just like that, my calm morning is officially over.
My twenty minutes to myself to think, sip coffee, and do whatever I want has come to an end with the whine of an alarm from my phone.
What’s next on my agenda you might ask?
Dump the cool coffee. Wake up Saxon. Deal with his grumpy morning attitude since being ten years old is the hardest thing in life. Breakfast. Pack up. Get Saxon to school, then I get to work.
Now I can tell you that I don’t dream of being in the kitchen, packing up a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and having someone big and strong walk up behind me, touch my hips and flirt with the bottom of my shirt, then claw under my shirt, wanting to fondle my breasts for a second or two.
Or maybe that kitchen quickie… right?
(Not that I’m an expert on that… to me right now a kitchen quickie is heating up leftover meatloaf from the night before…)
To my absolute shock, Saxon shuffles into the kitchen on his own.
My first thought is that he’s sick.
I race toward him and touch his forehead.
He groans and swats my hand away. “What are you doing?”
“You’re awake on your own. You might have the flu.”
