After a couple of long moments, he finally speaks.
"Doesheknow?"
That’s the question I was hoping he wouldn't ask. Thankfully, he keeps his voice low so his brother won't hear. I keep my eyes on the road and shake my head. Liam is smart and knows not to push further right now, not with Noah in the car.
"You know, I'll even be working with Tyler Hargrove," I tell Liam, whose eyes light up. I smile at his excitement, him looking like I just told him I'll be working with Allen Iverson. "He works there on the weekends, I think."
"Really?"
I nod.
Liam grins. "Cool."
“Will you get free chocolate chip muffins?” Noah asks the really important question, making Liam and me laugh. He sighs, eyes glazing over. “I love those.”
“I know you do, baby.” I smile. “Maybe not free—we don’t want to put Mabel out of business—but I’ll bring you one when I pick you up. Deal?”
“Deal!”
I pull into the middle school drop-off line, once again reminded that next year I’ll be in the high school line. Liam will be attending the same high school his father and I did, being taught by many of the same teachers.
When we get to the front, Liam holds his hand back for his brother to high-five as a goodbye, before he grabs his bags. The middle school basketball team practices for an hour and a half right after school.
"I'll be here at 3:30," I tell Liam, as I do every day. I think I just like Liam knowing that Iwillbe here, that I promise to pick him up.
As always, he nods his head and grabs both of his bags from the floor by his feet. He places his hand on the door handle, but pauses, turning back to me.
"Mama," Liam says, his voice low and unsure. He frowns like he's trying to find his words. Finally, he smiles and says. "I'm... happy for you."
My heart warms instantly at his words. I’d worried about what they would think of me working, and whether they’d be embarrassed to have their mom at the grocery store. Then I worried about having to explain that no job is shameful, that work itself is something to be proud of.
Parenting always seems like a series of conversations you hope to get right: correcting behaviors and reassuring anxieties before they can fester into something ugly.
Even then, you can do everything right and still mess it up.
But your oldest son looks at you with quiet pride and tells you that he's happy for you, and your youngest draws you as a superhero, and suddenly everything feels worth it.
"Thank you, baby," I whisper, leaning over to press a kiss to his head. He grimaces, glancing around to make sure no one saw, and I laugh. "Have a good day at school."
"Bye, Liam!" Noah yells from the backseat, waving wildly. Liam grins and waves back before walking toward the doors. I wait until I can't see him anymore before I pull away from the curb, heading toward the elementary school.
Halfway there, Noah tells me, "Mama, I'm gonna make my autumn sky a gratient."
I bite my lip to hold back a laugh. "A what, baby?"
"A gratient."
"Gradient," I correct gently.
He huffs with all the dignity an eight-year-old can muster. "That's what I said."
I lose the battle and laugh outright, meeting his smiling eyes in the mirror.
???
Customer service is like riding a bike—you never really forget how.
When we hit a lull, I'm wiping down my cashier lane when my coworker Drew walks over. Funny enough, I used to babysit him when I was fourteen, and now we’re coworkers.
