Today just happens to be the day of my bi-weekly sneak. A few minutes ago my mom and Sky left to run errands, giving me plenty of time to get in and out of her room. When I saw her car back out from the space and drive away, I came in here.
Drawer open, I remove a small stack of white envelopes and lay them out on her bed.Groceries. Rent. Sky college. Ember college. Gas. Spending money.
Reaching around to the back pocket of my jeans, I pull out a small wad of cash and unfold it.
The largest amount goes into the rent envelope. Groceries and gas gets less. Next is spending money. I don’t touch the college envelopes. It’s sweet of my mom, and it makes me love her even more, but realistically there will never be enough money in those envelopes to pay for us to go to college. It’ll be scholarships and loans for us. If Sky ever goes at all.
My college situation is a mess. Yes, I applied. Yes, I’ve received acceptance letters from all but one. I’d jump at the chance to go to every one of them, but it’s not in the cards for me. At least, not right away. Most of them are out of state. Sky still needs help. I applied knowing I wasn’t going to go. I wanted the validation of an acceptance letter.You’re good enough to be here.And I got it. Five times. Jury’s still out on the sixth one.
“Ember?” Sky yells from the living room.
I jump at the sound of my name and scramble to gather the envelopes. My fingers shake as I toss them in and attempt to gently close the drawer.
“Yeah?” I yell, then walk out. Sky stands in the kitchen, her eyes moving quickly from countertop to table, then around one more time.
“I need Mom’s car charger.” She looks at me as I come in. “Why were you in Mom’s room?”
“Uhhh…” I don’t lie well either. It kind of goes hand-in-hand with the sneaky thing I don’t like doing. “I was looking through her stuff. I have a date tonight.” Both of those things are true, so technically I didn’t lie.
“You have a date tonight?” It’s not Sky asking me this question. It’s my mom, who’s standing in the open apartment door.
“Yep.” I grin. I can’t help it.
“And he’s coming here to pick you up?” Her eyes sweep our home, picking out the faults.
“I’ll clean up before he arrives.” I could clean for ten years and it wouldn't put thread back into the couch cushions or remove water rings from the coffee table, but my words seem to appease her.
“Here’s your charger, Mom.” Sky passes me on her way to the door, the white string dangling from her outstretched hand.
“Don’t forget, you’re babysitting at eleven.” Mom leans on the door handle, opening the door wider so Sky can walk through.
“I won’t. See you both at five.”
She blows me a kiss and closes the door. I count to ninety, then go to peer out the window and make sure her car is gone. It is, so I hurry back into her room and open the drawer. She keeps the envelopes in a tidy stack, and they’re always in the same order. When everything is straightened properly, I shut the drawer and leave her room.
Unless she believes in some kind of money fairy, she must know it’s me padding the envelopes every two weeks. Still, I’d rather she not tell me she knows.
Some things are better left unsaid.
* * *
“Wyatt, come here.”I feign right and leap left.
The Ficus tree Wyatt is hiding behind tips as he leans onto the edge of the woven basket it sits in. Wyatt has turned his body into a pogo stick, and the Ficus is going to either fall on him, or fall on the ground. Apparently, the boy thinks what I’m doing is funny, and his screeching laughter bounces off the walls of the small living room. His eyes are the size of Frisbees, and he jumps up and down repeatedly.
I swear on all that is holy I will never have a child who acts like this.
Lurching forward, I grab the other side of the basket just before it tips all the way over. Wyatt cackles and runs to his room.
And me?
I slump down onto the floor and lean my head against the couch. Two minutes of rest before I have to stand on tiptoe and feel along the top of the door for the nail. No doubt Wyatt has locked himself in his room. It’s one of his many tricks.
The bright spot in all this is what’s on the schedule tonight. Not even the behavior of a tyrannical three-year-old can take away from my excitement about seeing Noah again. A real date. No lake, no school library, and no drugstore.
At the sound of Wyatt’s wail, I rush toward his room. He opens his door as I approach, his face scrunched up and tears flowing.
“I bonked my head,” he says, lips quivering. His arms are open, so I scoop him up and hold him close.
