“What’s Friday?”
“When you get a redo at date number two.”
I want to tell her that’s not necessary, but I nod in response, not willing to turn down any opportunity to spend time with her.
CHAPTER 16
LUCY
Ifeel like crap. My period started unexpectedly, and the cramps have been unbearable. The procedure I had after Levi’s birth was supposed to help manage my endometriosis, but this cycle is proving to be a rough one.
Micah and Levi are on the floor watchingBlueyas I rot away on the couch with my heating pad and a finished bowl of ice cream on the table. They’ve been wild since we got home from school, and I’m thankful for the moment of calm the Australian dogs are providing me. There must be a full moon coming because even my students were more restless than normal today.
My bladder screams at me, so I sneak off the couch and creep over to the bathroom. As soon as they realize I’m gone, chaos will ensue, so I’m determined to make this quick.
Normally, I’d use the bathroom in my room during this time of the month since it has all my supplies, but I have to pee so bad that the downstairs bathroom is my only option. I hustle over to it, quietly kicking the door closed behind me so no kids come in.
It’s my heavy day where I need a tampon and pad to contain the mess my uterus is trying to unleash. When I lookdown at my pad I silently curse. I’ve bled through another tampon, and I don’t have any down here.
Fuck.
I wipe and pull up my pants right as Levi bursts through the door holding his iPad. “I play, Mama?”
Taking the tablet from him, I punch in the parent code.
“Why is that all red, mama?” He points to the toilet water that I had yet to flush due to his interruption.
Shit. What do I say? I’m not ready to have that talk with him yet, because I definitely don’t need him repeating it to his entire preschool class. And he would.
“I… uhhh… That’s what happens when you drink too much red Kool-Aid, buddy.” Fuck, that was quick thinking. I hold my breath, waiting to see if he’s going to buy my lie, but he shrugs and runs out of the room.
When I emerge from the bathroom, Micah hands me his iPad so I can unlock it, and both boys run upstairs to play. After I take care of my tampon, I collapse back onto the couch.
Yes, I’m using technology to babysit my children. I’m a terrible parent. Actually, scratch that, I’m a tired single parent with no one to relieve me, and I just need a fucking break sometimes. And they normally don’t get more than an hour of iPad time a day. A few hours on a Friday night isn’t going to kill them.
Besides, Bella’s son Isaac is a coding genius and created a program that blocks them from talking to strangers that DM them in these games. It also has a feature that can tell if they’re trying to play something beyond the age bracket I set. Instead of telling them they don’t have access to it, it redirects them to an age-appropriate game, so they never know what they’re missing. It’s actually kind of genius. And he fixed my iCloud issue.
I lie there, watching an episode ofBlueythat’s still playing despite the fact that the boys left the room over thirty minutes ago. Oh fuck, it’s the “Sleepytime” episode. This one alwaysmakes me sob. I watch as Bingo cries when Floppy leaves her to join her kind around the ring of Saturn. A few tears glide down my cheeks, and I swipe at them. Stupid perfect kids’ show making me feel my feelings.
A knock sounds at my door, and my head pops up looking at it as though I’ll be able to see through it. My phone buzzes on the table, and I see a message from Mike.
Open up, gorgeous.
Oh my God, I look and feel like shit. I stand, wrapping the blanket around me as I waddle to the door, cracking it open a sliver.
“Hey, I know I’m twenty minutes early, but I…what’s wrong?” Mike takes a step closer, and I feel like a total asshole.
“Shit. I totally forgot we had a date tonight. I’m so sorry, it’s been a long week at school,” I say, defeated.
He grabs the door, forcing it open wider, looking me directly in the eyes. “What’s wrong, a chroí?”
I chew my lip, hesitating as I figure out what to tell him. This is ridiculous, I am a thirty-three-year-old woman, I’ve had periods for most of my life, and yet I’m still scared to tell a man that I can’t hang out with him because my uterus decided that she wanted to torture me three days early this month.
Before I can come up with a believable lie, he presses the back of his palm against my forehead. Even though I don’t have a fever, the coolness of his hand feels refreshing against my warm skin, and I shiver against him.
“Sorry my hands are cold. Forgot my gloves.”
“I don’t have a fever.”
