Total pages in book: 50
Estimated words: 49239 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 246(@200wpm)___ 197(@250wpm)___ 164(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 49239 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 246(@200wpm)___ 197(@250wpm)___ 164(@300wpm)
“Obviously.”
I shape a hamburger patty in my hands, still thinking about the confrontation with Zane yesterday. It’s hard being a single mom, but Cam and I moved in together a couple of years ago to try to make it easier.
Now we have help from each other. Cam takes my twelve-year-old daughter Hannah to early morning school dance practices when I have to work. I take care of her twin boys Sam and Tate when she has class two evenings a week. And while the bills are a little lighter this way—we’re always able to cover the house payment and groceries—some things will just always be a struggle for two single moms. Our kids know there’s not much money for extras in our household, but it hurts my heart that my son stole money to pay our electric bill in an effort to lighten my load.
“It says here he’s the team’s comic relief. Always cracking jokes and playing pranks.”
Cam’s back on Dom again. Since I sent her that photo of him, she hasn’t let the subject drop. She’s been looking up photos and interviews of him, getting all starry-eyed like I’ve seen her do many times with men. I’ve got more important things to think about.
“I’m sure he thinks he’s hilarious,” I mutter.
She sighs softly. “Aw, he said in this interview last year that his parents have been married for thirty-eight years and he hopes to find the one someday, too.”
I scoff. “A woman who wants to stay home with his babies while he screws around on her in a different city every week while traveling for hockey? It’s a real storybook tale, that one.”
“Okay, cynical man-hater.”
I side-eye her, a silent reminder of why I’m so cynical. When the kids are in earshot, we don’t talk about my ex-husband leaving me alone in a broken-down one-bedroom apartment with a three-year-old and a newborn, but it was the most terrifying experience of my life.
“Mom.” Hannah glares at me as she walks into the kitchen. “I told you I’m vegan now.”
“You can skip the burger and just eat mac and cheese,” Cam suggests.
Hannah furrows her brow. “I don’t think vegans eat cheese.”
“The orange powder I’m putting in this isn’t cheese, sweetie.”
“And you love it,” I remind my daughter. “Just because kids at school are vegan, that doesn’t mean you need to give up your favorite trash gourmet.”
“We should be eating fresh, organic foods.”
I laugh. “We’re on a processed, store-brand budget, babe.”
“Hey, there was a smooshed loaf of bread on clearance for a dollar, but I passed it by and bought a full-price store-brand loaf,” Cam says. “We’re living large in this house.”
“White bread is bad for you,” Hannah says.
This is the downside of living in Denver. In the Southside of Chicago, people didn’t bitch about GMOs and whole grains. But here, my kids go to school with earthy hippies in training who refuse to drink from water fountains.
“How’s your math grade?” I ask Hannah, giving her a pointed look. “Because an angry mother is also bad for you.”
She sighs dramatically. “I hate algebra, Mom.”
“Tate, wait for dinner!” Cam scolds her son as he scans the contents of the fridge. “You already had a snack.”
I lecture Hannah while cooking hamburgers, the smell of the cooking beef reminding me of the diner. “You don’t only have to pass the classes you enjoy. If you don’t get a C or above on your test this week, you’re out of dance until you bring up that grade.”
“Mom! That’s not fair!”
“Dance is extra. You know that. Math is—”
“I’m going out,” Zee says.
I didn’t even realize he’d come up from the basement. He’s almost all the way through the side door when he makes his announcement.
“Get back in here!” I yell.
The kitchen goes silent. When I raise my voice, everyone knows I mean business.
Zane walks into the kitchen and gives me a bored look. He’s not fooling me, though. I see the fear in his eyes. I was only fifteen when I got pregnant with him, so in a way, we’ve grown up together. I’m still his mom, though.
“You aren’t going anywhere.”
“Logan’s out front waiting for me.”
“Too bad.”
He balks. “Come on, Mom.”
“After what you did yesterday? Are you kidding me? You’re grounded, Zee.”
“Don’t you think I’m a little old for grounding?”
“Nope.”
He may be taller than me, and he may look more like a man than the little boy I’ve loved with my whole heart since the moment I saw him, but I’m going to keep trying to guide him in the right direction until he’s legally an adult. And honestly, I’ll still try then, too. He just won’t have to listen to me then.
Sam’s and Tate’s laughter makes us all look over at them, each holding a plate with a waiting hamburger bun.
“We got the buns, suckers,” Tate says with a grin.