Just what I need on my first day of work.
My first day at Mabel’s. There’s a mix of anxious and excited butterflies fluttering through my stomach—more excited, I note as I brush my teeth and study my reflection in the mirror. My eyes are still red-rimmed and swollen, but there's a lightness to my posture, a smile curving my lips.
As I step into the shower, I wonder what people will think of me—Mrs. Durant working at the grocery store. Will they judge me? Think less of me working in customer service? Will it get worse when they learn Atlas and I are separating?
The most important question is—do I care?
No.
I have a job. I’ll be earning money, contributing, doing something that matters.
This town needs Mabel's grocery store and its workers, just as it needs the doctors at Mercy General, the waitstaff at the local diner, the Burger King employees, the janitors and the teachers in the high school.
Every person has their purpose, and when a link in the system breaks—like when a husband checks out on his family—it truly shows how important that link is.
I am starting my first day of work at Mabel's and I feel excited in a way I haven't in a while. Damn what anyone else thinks. I'm taking steps forward to support my children and myself.
I think that's something to be proud of.
...
Liam is my early riser, usually hitting the ground running at 5:45. He’ll pull himself from his bed, straighten his bedding, and jump in the shower first in his and Noah's shared bathroom.
Noah is a bit slower to get up. I usually have to come back into his bedroom twice to make sure he's awake and moving.
Sometimes, I have to physically drag him to the bathroom and into the shower. Liam will then make sure Noah's not wearing his clothes inside out, that his socks match, and help him brush his teeth.
Twenty-five minutes later, they're thundering down the stairs, tripping over each other to see who can make it to the kitchen first. Liam always lets Noah win, and Noah knows, but loves it anyway.
I’ll have their breakfast ready and lunches packed in their lunchboxes.
This morning, I completely forgot I needed to make lunch for myself, too, so I had to throw something together quickly.
The thought that I'll need to make myself lunch, just like I do for the boys, makes me feel a little giddy. It's something small, but it's mine.
As for Atlas' lunch, well... Iforgot.
Just like he forgot to show up for therapy.
Maybe he'll wonder, just like I did—did I really forget, or did I purposefully not do it? He can figure it out while he's figuring out lunch for himself.
It felt pretty good not to expend energy on him today. After how he treated me this morning after his nightmare, I'm in a petty mood. He's an adult. He can figure out his meals.
I'm taking care of the ones I need to—my sons and myself.
"Boys, grab your bags, we gotta go!" I call out, pressing start on the dishwasher after I've loaded the breakfast plates in there.
I grab the lunchbags from the fridge, shoving my lunch inmy purse, handing Liam his lunch, and then clipping Noah's to his yellow backpack. Liam slings his basketball bag over one shoulder and his bookbag over the other.
The boys chatter through the morning, voices bouncing off the walls, unconcerned with the growing volume of their voices. There goes that pettiness rising inside of me again because I don't really care if they wake up Atlas upstairs.
He was still in bed when I walked out of the bathroom and started getting dressed. His eyes were closed, but I wasn't sure if he was asleep. The embarrassment this morning kept me from looking too closely.
His face was once such a comfort, and now it just hurts to look at.
"Liam, do you have your basketball shorts?"
"Yeah, Mama," Liam replies, motioning to his bag.
