Page 11 of Miss Manage

When I stepped inside my house, the peace wrapped around me like a warm blanket. My home was my sanctuary, and having my son here at any time made it perfection.

The entryway opened into the sanctuary I’d spent years methodically shaping with pride. Terracotta tiles stretched across the floor, warm and earthy, their surface cool beneath my tired feet. Arched doorways led from room to room, each curve in direct contrast to the chaos of my day.

I’d collected pieces over the years, each one chosen with care like an antique carved sideboard from a tiny shop in Florence, mosaic-tiled tables with a scatter of colors, and rich woven rugs which made the open spaces cozier.

After my marriage ended, and I walked away from the family home, I swore my next four walls would recharge rather than drain me.

“Hey, honey,” I greeted as I stepped into the large kitchen. He was perched on a stool, phone in hand, scrolling through whatever app was hot now. His hair was a little too long in the front which was apparently the style. Mothers were supposed to be biased of course, but I thought he was such a handsome, thoughtful kid.

He stood to hug me before heading straight for the fridge. “How was spin class with Aunt Michelle?”

“Exhausting. It was hill night. Done with homework?”

“Yep, all finished.”

“You hungry?”

“Always. But don’t go to any trouble.”

I shook my head, pulling out pasta. “It’s never any trouble. Brown butter noodles and breaded chicken okay?”

He grinned. “Sounds amazing. Thanks for making this place always feel like home.”

“This is your home, Austin. The custody schedule was for when you were little. You’re old enough now to decide where you want to spend your time.”

He shifted, uneasy. “Dad’s not thrilled about me coming over on his nights. I told him I was studying with a friend.”

I sighed, putting a pot of water on the stove to boil. “You shouldn’t have to lie, and this isn’t a competition. Is everything okay over there?”

He hesitated before answering. “They’ve been fighting a lot. Stassie cries when he leaves, and…it’s a lot with the baby and the other kids.”

My lips pressed together as I stirred butter into the pan. Stassie had been our nanny before becoming his wife. She was ten years younger than me and, I chose to believe, nothing started happening until after we’d divorced. But the timing didn’t matter anymore. They had three kids under four, and whatever was going on between them was clearly spilling onto Austin.

“Dad says I should help more with the kids,” he added quietly, “but between school, baseball, and homework, I can barely keep up.”

I bit back a sharp response. “It’s nice of you to help out with your siblings when you can, but three kids under four isn’t something anyone could manage well. That’s a lot, even for adults.”

“That’s what I said,” he muttered. “When Stassie’s around, I don’t mind playing with the twins or helping with the baby. But all three by myself on a Saturday when it makes me late for practice. It’s too much.”

He wasn’t wrong. It was too much for anyone, let alone for a sixteen-year-old still juggling school and his own life. The unfairness of it burned, but I kept judgement out of my tone. “Do they have any help?”

He shook his head. “No. She’s asked for a nanny, even part-time, but he won’t pay for it. They fight about it all the time.”

Some things never changed. Steve had always been on the cheap side and clearly expected his new wife to do everything regarding the home. I tried not to let my irritation show.

“I’m sorry to hear things are bumpy. But you’re welcome here whenever you want. If your dad has an issue with that, I’ll handle it.”

Relief flickered across his face. “Thanks, Mom.”