Not this year.
Leona’s coming over. To watch Gabby.
Reid’s going to be here soon. To take me out to the cute Italian place where he made a reservation.
I’m freaking out, even though he’s seen my kid and me at our absolute worst. He even knows I used to be fat, which means at any moment, I could blow up again. Not likely, but still. And don’t think I’m one of thoseOh, I’m fat, wah, wahladies. I’m not. Only stating the facts about what happened when I went to Mom Bloggers Unite.
Never again would I go to one of those. Bet they’d love to have UAB as their panelist, so they can pick my brain and then light me on fire at the stake.
Tough shit, mommy bloggers.
As I stand in front of my closet mirror in a black dress, a red heel on my left foot and a tall gray suede boot on my right, Gabby pops in my room.
“Mom! What’re you doing?” She plops on my bed in striped leggings and a silver shirt, dozens of strands of beads wrapped around her neck, looking a thousand times better than last week.
“I’m trying to decide what shoes to wear.”
“The red ones are like Snow White shoes. Wear those.”
“Right. The boots are better suited for me, though, baby.”
She gives me a weird look, and I kick off the stiletto and slip into the second boot.
I pinch my cheeks and grab my lipstick.
“Can I have some?” Gabby asks.
“Sure, why not? It’s New Year’s Eve.”
“Leona said we’re going to eat a sickening sweet pretzel in the morning.”
“She’s being silly.”
“No, she said I could sleep over, and you could sleep in or do other things. That’s what she said.”
I’m going to kill her.“Well, I’d like to be the first one to kiss you good morning in the new year.”
“Awww, Leona said the pretzel has this really goopy icing.”
I’m going to hurt her before I kill her.“It’s a New Year’s tradition for good luck. Don’t you want me to share that with you?”
“I’ll save you a piece. Promise.” She rolls onto her back and plays with her necklaces.
“I’ll talk with Leona,” are my last words before the doorbell rings.
In walks Leona, hanging on Reid’s arm, her eyes lit up like the Fourth of July.
Instantly, I know she planned the whole scenario. In fact, she probably told Reid she’d babysit before he even asked. Maybe they texted?
Crappity, cripe.
“Hi,” I say instead, smiling at Reid, glaring at Leona.
“Wow, you look great.” He winks but doesn’t touch me, keeping it G-rated in front of our audience.
Gabby runs over and says, “I helped Mom pick her shoes.”
“You look great too. Love the sparkles,” Reid tells her.
