And then I’ll get those looks from the other parents. The ones filled with thinly veiled pity and smug concern, like I’m a living PSA on hownotto juggle life.
I pull up the Uber app. The nearest ride is fifteen minutes away.
Shit.
My heart kicks into overdrive. The bus. There’s a cityroute that runs near the community centre, and I’m pretty sure one should be passing through soon.
I scramble out of the car, half-walking, half-jogging toward the bus stop a block away while opening my phone’s browser to check the schedule. My fingers fumble as I type, attention fixed on the screen.
That’s why I don’t see the wall of a man until I crash right into him.
His chest is like concrete. I slam into it, bounce back a step, and lose my footing. My centre of gravity shifts and I’m bracing for impact with the sidewalk when a pair of strong hands catch my arms and steady me.
I look up—and up—into a face I’ve only seen from a distance since my first day on the job. The day Arthur Stetson dismissed me with a few cutting words that made it clear he didn’t think much of me or my opinion.
“Ms. Baker,” Arthur Stetson says, voice cool and clipped. “I see your inability to watch where you’re going isn’t limited to when you’re behind the wheel.”
It’s not the harshest thing anyone’s said to me. It’s not even the worst thing he’s said to me. But for some reason that one snide comment tips me right over the edge.
My eyes burn. And then I’m crying. Full-on, can’t-speak, can’t-breathe sobbing.
I cry for Sam, who’s going to be waiting and wondering where I am. I cry for the never-ending bills and the unreliable car. I cry because this man keeps finding new ways to make me feel smaller than I already do.
His grip tightens, steady but not unkind. I hear him curse under his breath.
“I didn’t mean to… Jesus. Are you okay?”
I don’t respond. I can’t. The tears keep coming, hot and humiliating. He seems more horrified by my crying than I am.
“It’s fine, Elliot. No harm, no foul. You can stop crying now.Please.”
Wow. He does know my first name. I wipe at my cheeks with one trembling hand. “I’m sorry,” I manage, my voice shaking as I turn and walk away.
“Where are you going?”
“The bus stop. My car won’t start.”
“So call a tow truck.”
He’s still behind me, keeping pace easily with his long, slightly uneven strides.
“I don’t have time,” I say without looking back. “I need to pick up my son in fourteen minutes.”
I glance down at the schedule, praying that the timing works out.
“And a bus is actually going to get you there on time? Are they even reliable?”
“More reliable than my piece of shit car.”Hopefully.
“Why don’t you just get a new car?”
I stop in my tracks and spin to face him. “Because I’m a single mom with a mountain of debt and a horrible credit score.”
His jaw tightens and he looks away. Good, I think. He’s not the only one who can use bluntness as a weapon.
I refocus on my phone, scanning the route list, but my stomach sinks. The bus I needed left ten minutes ago. The next one isn’t coming for another twenty. I close my eyes for a second, then reopen them and consider my dwindling options. Maybe my friend Jess is home. She lives just around the corner from us and sometimes has Wednesdays off.
“I can take you.”
