“Yes, cherry blossom?” I glance into the back, giving Jane a quick smile as she tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. She’s my sweet angel. Quiet, responsible, with a built-in kindness just like her daddy.
“Are we going to be late for the airport?” She starts to worry her lip. “I don’t want to miss our flight.”
“We won’t,” I assure her, not sure I even believe myself. “I made sure to book a flight that’s still a couple of hours away so we have time to get home and then make it to the airport. Daddy’s already there, getting the car packed up.”
Dom snorts and gives me a dubious frown. “While looking after Charlotte and Paris? There’s no way things will be organized by the time we get home.”
I force a smile and really want to argue, defend my gorgeous husband, but Dom’s right. Wily gets so distracted when he’s looking after the kids. All he wants to do is play, and ifCharlotte’s brought out any kind of dress-ups and then put on those puppy dog eyes of hers, he’ll never be able to resist.
I’ll no doubt walk in on him decked out as Captain Hook while Charlotte flits around the house as a fairy, giggling and laughing when Daddy chases her in his Halloween costume from last year. All six of us got dressed up. I was so pregnant and went as Smee, while Seb got Peter Pan. Dom wanted to be a pirate like his daddy, and Jane begged for Wendy. That left Tinkerbell for Charlotte, and everyone was happy.
Unlike right this second, where I am veryunhappy.
I grip the wheel, willing my chaotic insides to calm down as we inch a little farther forward. My brain jumps ahead to all the things I’ll need to do when we walk in that front door. I start mentally listing off the instructions I’ll give each child so we can get ready in record time.
Dominic and Jane are amazing with that kind of thing and will run to do my bidding without complaint. Sebastian, on the other hand… I glance into the rearview mirror and angle my head so I can see him better.
Right now, my five-year-old is sitting quietly, drawing patterns in the air with his fingers… but it’s only a matter of time. My little Tarzan finds it very hard to sit still and behave. Safety, forethought…any thought—these are not things in his wheelhouse.
Impulsiveness, action, kamikaze jumps over the stairwell railing—these are the things that come naturally to him.
As soon as we get home, he’ll no doubt rip through the house in an excited frenzy, tearing up the place I’ve spent most of the day tidying like a banshee on steroids.
I shudder and clench my teeth, trying not to imagine that into existence. Snapping my eyes shut, I quietly count to ten.
The car horn beeps behind me again, and I pop my eyes back open and inch forward a little farther.
Crap. I’m not going to make this turn before the light goes red again.
Dammit!
I’m so over city traffic.
I’m sick of living in this bustling hub.
I want the peace of small-town life again! Sure, Fledgling was teeny-tiny, and maybe I don’t want that for my kids. Growing up on a postage stamp definitely came with its disadvantages, especially when there’s only one high school and you just happen to be walking the hallways with a bully target on your back. But the idea of living in a town with only one set of traffic lights is really appealing right now.
Wily doesn’t need to stay here anymore.
Now that football’s off the table, he could look for a job anywhere.
He has been offered that high school coaching position, but he doesn’t have to take it, does he? I mean, he could find a coaching job anywhere. He’d be a great coach, and schools would no doubt rush to snap him up.
The idea of moving to a town where a traffic jam means a five-minute delay? Yeah, that sounds like heaven to me.
I tap my phone in the cradle, checking the time, and am about to warn my kids that when we get home, I really need them to step up and be my awesome cadets.
We’ll play the Army game, and I’ll get them to salute me before running off to do my bidding. Dom’s still young enough to get into that. He’s nine and maturing faster than I can get my head around, but he’s the best older brother and will play along with me in order to get everyone marching upstairs to gather their things and rushing through tasks with “Yes, sirs!” and giggling salutes.
It’ll be fun.
If we can freaking get home!
I inch forward a little farther just as my phone starts ringing.
Dom leans over to check my screen and instantly perks up. “It’s Aunt Blake!”
My kids adore that woman. Probably because she lets them do whatever they want, stuffs them full of candy, then sends them back to me—a wild pack of dogs.
