Geraldine:Caw-Caw.
I chuckle, then set the phone down and lean back in my chair, staring at the ceiling.
A pair of headlights sweep across the front window, cutting through the dark.
Mom is here with the kids. I push to my feet, my wings fluttering automatically to help me move faster, and I'm in my living room, halfway to the door when it swings open without a knock.
Behind her are the kids, first Matthew, who storms inside, chatting about his robotics project coming up, and then Zoe, dragging her feet as usual. I greet and hug them both, then turn to my mom.
Belinda Everdeen sweeps into my house like the force of nature she is. She wears a flowing psychedelic print tunic, yoga pants, and enough bracelets and crystal necklaces to make adragon want to stuff her into its treasure room. Her silver-and-pastel hair catches the overhead light, arranged in a loose bun atop her head.
And she's mercifully carrying a bottle of wine in one hand, swinging it over her head like a sign at a protest.
"The kids ate dinner at my house," Mom announces as she gives my daughter a pointed look. "And now they're going to go do homework in their rooms."
Matthew nods dutifully, and Zoe rolls her eyes, but both kids trudge upstairs without arguing. Mom pulls me into a fierce hug, her silver wings brushing against mine in that instinctive pixie gesture of comfort, and something inside me cracks just a little.
I let myself sag into her for exactly three seconds.
Then I pull back and straighten my spine, brushing a loose strand of hair out of my face.
"It's fine," I say, my voice clipped. "Everything's fine. I just need to clone myself and maybe invent a time machine. Or swear off sleep for a few years. That should do it."
Mom gives me a look that says she's not buying my bullshit chirpy attitude for a second, but she doesn't push. Instead, she swings the wine bottle over her head again and heads for my kitchen. I follow behind her about half a heartbeat later.
I can't say I'm not glad she brought wine. I'm wound up so tight, I'm afraid my wings will snap off.
"Sit," she says firmly.
I want to argue, but honestly? I'm too tired.
I sink back into my chair at the kitchen table, and Mom pours us each a generous glass of red wine. She slides one across to me and takes the seat opposite, folding her hands on the table.
"Talk to me," she says gently.
So I do.
I give her the condensed version: I can't seem to find another nanny. Maybe I never will. When I finish, I take a long sip of wine and try not to think about how close I am to crying.
Mom is quiet for a moment, her turquoise eyes soft with sympathy.
"Being a mother is hard. Being a single mom? It's doubly as hard," she says carefully. "I should know. I did it."
I know. Belinda Everdeen is the rock I built my entire life on. I don't remember my father much, since he passed when I was only four, but I do remember how my mother picked herself up by her yoga-bootstraps and dug herself out of what should have been an endless pit of grief.
She was a great mom. She still is. I remember how hard she worked, how she juggled her small business and raised me all on her own. I don't know how she managed to be so strong, underneath all that free-spirited exterior.
I wish I could be half as strong. But I'm not. I'm at my breaking point, and I feel like a gigantic failure.
"I can take the kids tomorrow after school again," Mom says, pulling me out of my thoughts. "They can hang out at the studio with me until you get off from work. But Rika, honey, this can't be a full-time thing."
Relief washes over me, sharp and immediate. Then guilt bites, hard. My mom shouldn't have to bail me out like that. I know she's right. I know it's not her responsibility to take care of my children every day. She has her own life, her own business, her own plans.
"Thank you, that would be amazing," I say, forcing a smile that feels brittle and fake. "And don't worry, I understand, Mom. I've got it under control."
Her eyes search mine, and I can see she doesn't believe me.
Neither do I. If I can just get through the next few weeks, I'll figure it out.
