At least I thought the week before spring break went well.This is her first experience going to school. Maybe I should have had her start back in September, but preschool was the last thing on my mind when we lost El.
Her tiny body breaks out in goosebumps when I lift her out of the tub.
She stomps her foot. “No Miss Maimy.”
I cover her head with a towel, rubbing circles against her scalp and muffling her voice.
Does she not like her teacher? When Caroline discovered Be the Brave had a preschool opening so late in the year, my whole family encouraged me to enroll Quinn. I agreed because I thought she could benefit socially from being around kids her own age. Her birthday party was evidence she’s making friends here.
I flop the cat hood over her head and wrap her up, carrying her to her room. Her pink dresser drawer gives way with a one-handed pull. I pick the first shirt and pair of pants I can find. They’re two different shades of purple. Probably a noif El were in charge, but it’s all up to me now.
When I try to lay Quinn down, she thrashes against the carpet.
“Stop!” I bark. My patience is wearing thin, and I still need to get her dressed. I fight to get her head in the hole of her T-shirt. Underwear, pants, and socks are a wrestling match too. Air is gusting from my lungs by the time she’s finally clothed.
I check the clock again. How did that take fifteen minutes? We’re already late.
It’s a sprint getting downstairs to brush her hair. I should have kept everything in the upstairs bathroom we share, but I moved it all down here the night before my parents left. Quinn wanted to stay up with them as long as possible, which included teeth brushing and hair combing in close proximity. It seemed like a reasonable compromise at the time. Now it’s one I regret.Along with not paying attention to how Eliza handled this situation.
Quinn screams when the bristles of the brush catch on a tangle. All of that running around at her party yesterday was no match for conditioner. I try again and get the same outcome.
“I’m sorry!” I say, stopping and holding her close.
Breakfast. The bath. Her hair? I’m terrible at this. I scrub at my face, and a bright yellow bottle flashes between my spread fingers.Tubby Todd Detangler, it reads. Thank god. After a generous spray, I’m able to comb through her hair with ease.
I gather her backpack, coat, water bottle, and lunchbox from the kitchen counter but I’m certain I’m forgetting something. Arms full, I flop her over my shoulder like a ragdoll and swipe the key fob next to my phone. I’m out of hands. Even worse, my phone starts to ring.
Of course it’s Todd calling. The one day he manages to get out of bed, and it couldn’t be a worse time for me.
Quinn’s tears haven’t let up. She’s still recovering from the brush fiasco. If she’s making a bunch of background noise, there’s no way I’ll be able to hear a word that he says, and I really don’t want to call him back.
I swing her down to my hip. “How about some marshmallows?”
“Yep,” she blubbers.
I’ve basically fed my child sugar for breakfast, and she’s still upset.
“Okay, here’s what we’re going to do first… we’ll grab you some marshmallows,” I tell her, stuffing the handle of her lunchbox in my mouth so I can pour the bribe into her waiting palms. Several spill onto the floor and I kick them out of the way because I have about three more seconds before my manager hangs up. “And then we’re going to get you in the car.” I’m doing some sort of awkward gallop now as I exit the front door and shelter Quinn’s face from the mob of flashing cameras that greets us.
The call rings for a fifth and final time, and I drop everything but Quinn to answer it.
“Todd?” I clutch the phone against my ear as I plop Quinn in her car seat. Once she’s buckled, I’m chasing a rolling water bottle down my driveway. “Can you hear me?”
“Hey, man. How’s it going?” he asks.
“Rhett Dawson, what’s it like to be back at your childhood home?”
“When can your fans expect you to return to the stage?”
“Care to clear the air on what happened at the Nashville show?”
Reporters are feeding me question after question as I shove everything I dropped into the back seat and slam the door.
“Where… you?”
The middle of Todd’s sentence gets lost when I turn the car on and my phone connects to the Bluetooth. The fact that he’s still on the call is all I care about. I reach over the passenger seat to watch out the rear window as I back out of the driveway.
Several people rush to the sides of my car as soon as it touches the public sidewalk, knocking on the windows and pressing microphones to the glass. They have zero decency, clawing at the clear surface and shouting questions over each other. I’m always afraid it’s going to scare Quinn, but all she does is blink at them as if strangers plastered against your car window is normal. I’m nervous one of these times they’re going to stand behind my car and I won’t be able to leave.
