Let’s not forget that drama is Chase’s shadow’s personal name. He’s always got a story about why he is never where he agreed to be, and of course it’s never his fault.
Even if all of that was miraculously fixed today, he’s unrelenting at sucking the life out of my soul.
And just as I thought.
Tonight is not any different.
He’s not where he agreed to be.
With no sign of him anywhere, I let out a hefty huff and pull into the spot closest to the front door—right next to a police cruiser. Since he plays this game to get under my skin, I resist the urge to text to find out where he is.
Instead, I reach across the passenger seat to rifle through my backpack until I find my music theory textbook. I’m not a nerd who geeks out on this stuff. However, I am in the final semester of my bachelor’s degree in music education, and I have my first exam tomorrow. It’s always been my dream to teach. Sure, it’s an ordinary job that doesn’t seem like a huge stretch or even that big of a goal, but I’ve completed all my classes while single parenting and working. It’s been a long haul to get here—taking me twice as long as traditional students. It’s been almost a full eight years, and not one of them was easy, but I never gave up. Now, I have two more classes to pass, and I’ll finally have a professional job with normal hours and health insurance. I’m hoping desperately that it leads to a more stable life for Bella and me.
Because it has to.
I’ve put all my hope into this degree.
I’m careful not to look in the mirror when I tap the overhead light on. Car mirrors hurt my feelings. I slouch in my seat to get comfortable and flip through my book until I find the chapter on assessments. I drop my index finger to the page and force my tired eyes to follow along as I read, “Educational assessment is a systematic process of documenting and using evidence to improve educational programs and studen—” My chin slams to my chest, jolting me awake. I didn’t even make it a full sentence, and I’m already nodding off.
I need some air.
I press the window control, lowering it enough to allow in a breath of fresh air. Loud back beats thrum behind me. There’s no need to turn around to know Chase has finally returned with my child. Popping the door open, I slide out and stand next to the empty spot that he pulls into. He strides around from his side of the truck with a garbage bag in his hand. “Here you go.” He drops the bag to the asphalt without breaking eye contact with me. The corners of his mouth twitch like he’s doing everything he can not to smirk.
“What is that?” As if I’m afraid to look at it, I also don’t let my gaze stray away from his face. A smug sneer fills in the bottom half of his face, and he looks like an absolute tool. I cringe.I can’t believe I used to love this guy.
“It’s Bella’s dirty laundry. I didn’t have time to wash it.”
“Thank you.” My voice laces with sarcasm as I resist reminding him that doing Bella’s laundry from his days is in our custody agreement. I’ve learned he doesn’t care. With Bella in the truck, I refuse to waste my precious time with her on his deficiencies. He’s the one with an in-home washer and dryer, and doing laundry for him is pretty painless. I, on the other hand, must use the laundromat—which I’m grateful to have right down the street from my apartment—but it’s not my job to do his chores.
But I don’t tell him that.
Instead, I take the garbage sack and walk it to the back of my car, pop the hatch, and toss it in.
“What’s wrong, Kaci?” His words slur together, like he’s about to mock me.
“What makes you think something’s wrong?” I slam the trunk shut and walk around to his truck, open the back door, step up on the guard rail, and bite my bottom lip—hard.
Bella’s head droops forward, and her eyes are sealed. It’s way too late for a nap, not to mention she gave up napping years ago. Chase knows this ruins my plans for an early bedtime, but again I don’t let him see my frustration. I tap her shoulder, and call softly, “Bella, baby, it’s time to get up.”
Her dark lashes flutter open, allowing the brightest shade of blue to peek out. A sleepy smile pins on her lips. “Mom,” she calls as she throws her slender arms around my neck, pulling me close. Her hug makes this painful exchange with Chase worth it.
“Baby, it’s time to come with me.”
She’s my perfect angel. Obedient to me in a way I don’t deserve as she happily unlatches her seatbelt, grabs her stuffed bear, Little B, and climbs out of the truck, latching her fingers in between mine. It’s a tight squeeze with the two vehicles parked so close together. My shoulder brushes against Chase’s as I pass in front of him. Of course he’s got something to say. “Girl, you smell like stress and dirty dishes.”
Normally I can let anything he says roll right off me, but I tilt my head and replay what he said.
I’ve been called a hot mess before, but wow, this is something else.
The sad thing is that it doesn’t sting. He’s probably right. I just got off work. Not to mention, it’s been ages since I allowed myself the funds to purchase any personal care products other than soap, shampoo, and the very basics of drugstore makeup.I definitely don’t wear perfume or even scented lotion; they're not in my budget. I steel my expression, locking away all my emotions from bearing. I’ve long since been a closed book for him. I don’t care to exchange any personal talk. “Next Friday, Bella has her school fall harvest festival,” I inform him, as I highly doubt he opens the emails from Bella’s teacher. “Would you like to do transition at the school after that?”
He shuts the backdoor of his truck and casually leans his shoulder to rest against it. “Why not?” He offers me a smile one could argue is diplomatic, but I know him all too well.
“Okay, Friday at the school,” I repeat as I slide into my driver’s seat and close the door, shutting out him and any chance of a rebuttal. I snap my seatbelt on, check my rearview mirror, and my heart instantly refuels when my gaze plants on Bella beaming back at me. “How was your dad’s house?”
Her perfect button nose scrunches, leaving little lines to dot between her eyes. It’s an animation she’s made since she was a baby, and it reminds me of my mom. Genetics is a funny thing. I used to wonder why she didn’t inherit any of my mannerisms, but now I don’t question it. All she needs is a perfect set of acrylic nails and a blow-dried, fluffy hairdo, and she’d be a perfect twin to my mom.
It’s not a bad thing.
