Glancing down the street, I see the bus barreling in my direction, and immediately know I’m going to break my cardinal rule. I don’t like picking Gabby up while on the phone, but in 2.5 seconds, I’m going to waggle a pointer finger in the air, signalingbe quiet for one secondto my only child.
“Greg has mono. Fuck,” Reid huffs out.
“It’s okay. Have you had it?”
“That’s not what I’m worried about, but yeah, I had it in college. Had to go home for a month. Christ,” he says, and the bus rolls to a stop.
Gabby charges down the steps, and I waggle the finger.
“I’ve come to depend on him,” Reid says, “and was really hoping to get a lot done this week. Now I have to cover his study sessions until I find a replacement.”
“It’s fine. I get it.” In my head, I do. But in my heart, I’m crushed. He doesn’t even mention Valentine’s Day again, which in the whole scheme of things, shouldn’t be a big deal. But I’m like an adolescent girl with a crush, and am going psychotic.
“Mom!” Gabby tugs on my arm. “Is it Reid?”
How in the world did this man insert himself into our lives? It feels glorious, like the sun first rising in the morning.
“Hey, Gabby,” Reid says into the phone.
“I’ll tell her you say hi. You sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah, I came out for a quick run, and now I’m going to grab a shower and a slice of pizza before I head back to campus. I apologize.”
“How about your blog? Can you manage?” I ask, knowing he probably can’t, and it’s like rubbing salt in his wounds.
“I don’t think I’ll be posting much this week. It’s complicated. No biggie, though. Rain check?”
I nod, and then remember we’re on the phone. “Rain check.”
After I disconnect the call, I tell Gabby, “Looks like mac and cheese, it is.”
Of course, she has no idea what I’m missing. “My favorite. And then can we eat all my candy from the party at school?”
Remember when I said they can’t do anything for holidays at school these days? Instead of a Valentine’s Day party, they have an almost-February gig. Sheesh—this must be why I’m so obsessed with V-day. At least, that’s what I tell myself.
“Hellooo!” Leona calls from her front porch, obviously waiting for us.
“Hey, Lee.” I take notice of her sparkly blue jeggings and suppress the urge to laugh. “Tonight’s off. Reid has to work. Emergency-type thing,” I say, defending him right away.
“Phooey. Whatcha doing then?”
“Making mac and cheese, and eating candy.”
Gabby runs up the steps, calling out, “Mom, I have to pee!”
“Talk in a bit, Lee.”
“Let’s do pizza. My treat,” she calls after me.
“Yes!” Gabby chimes in.
“Okay,” I say, giving in without a fight.
Later, Leona makes herself comfortable in my big chair—the one I write in—and tells Gabby to go paint her a picture. Code forI know something is up, and let’s chat.
“Pizza will be here in a half hour. Want to tell Leona what has your panties in a bunch?”
I blow out a long breath and fall onto the couch, my legs crisscross-applesauce underneath me. “Reid’s bogged down with work, and he’s too busy for me. Maybe it’s that he just doesn’t like me that much, and wants to end things before Valentine’s Day. Shit, I’m like a broken record when it comes to this holiday,” I say, mumbling the last part. Then I add, “My God, I’m like a schoolgirl on crack.”
