“I could come with you, just to help with dinner and at the store.”
“No, thanks, we’ll be fine.”
“They’ve been horrible all day. You’re probably gonna realize they’re in terrible moods as soon as you get out of the car.”
Gee, I wonder why they’re in terrible moods when you’realways mean to them, they haven’t had a bath or dinner, and you probably didn’t adhere to the sleep schedule I keep them on for naps and bedtime because you think you know everything.
And you’re too fucking lazy and stubborn to listen to a goddamn word I say.
I. Fucking. Wonder. Why. They’re. Being. Horrible.
“Okay,” I grit out, hands clenched around the steering wheel. “I will do my best to cope with it. Bye.”
I roll the window up, shift into drive, and ease my foot off the brake. He stands there for a moment before finally taking a step back.
A heavy exhale escapes my lungs after we make it a few miles down the road. I pull into McDonald’s and order the boys each a Happy Meal and large fries with a Diet Coke for me. I usually don’t let them have condiments in the car because of the inevitable mess, but I make an exception today.
Watching them devour the food like they haven’t eaten anything substantial in days makes my stomach clench with a mix of anxiety and rage. Threatening tears prick the back of my eyes, but I refuse to give in to them.
I don’t have time for tears right now. The emotional reaction will have to wait. The boys need to see me being strong. They need to know Mommy is going to take care of them.
I’m their safe space. I can’t control what happens when they’re with their dad during his time. I can’t make sure they’re fed and bathed and sleeping enough.
But when they’re with Mommy, they will never have to wonder where the next hot meal is from. They will always have snuggles and snacks. They will always have shoes towear, even if I have to buy them a new pair every single week with the money I get from the bartending job that emotionally drains me and wrecks my sleep schedule.
They will never ever have to be the ones who regulate my emotions, the ones I’m barely holding on to.
We pull into the Walmart parking lot. After they finish inhaling their Happy Meals, I unbuckle them and put them both inside a shopping cart, which is by far the easiest way to keep track of them in a place like this. Their moods have already drastically improved.
We walk inside and make a beeline for the shoe department. I get them each a pair of off-brand tennis shoes. Dawson’s favorite color is green, and Dutton’s favorite is blue. By some miracle, there’s a pair of each in their size.
“Thank you, Jesus,” I breathe, throwing them in the cart, where the boys are having a mini wrestling match.
I stop by the refrigerated section to grab a gallon of milk and my favorite coffee creamer—toasted coconut vanilla. After snagging a few premade kids lunches, a bag of Cheetos, a two-pound tub of strawberries, and a bottle of pinot noir, I head for the self-checkout.
When I start scanning, the boys jump up to hand me each product, fighting over who gets to help Mommy more.
“You can both help. Stop pushing each other,” I scold.
As I’m scanning the wine, an employee comes up to check my ID. I fish it out of my black hole of a purse and thrust it toward him.
“Whoa. Careful, little monkey,” a deep voice rumbles from behind my back.
I flip around to see strong, veiny armssaving Dawson from nearly face-planting onto the linoleum. My heart jumps in my throat, and I lunge forward.
“Dawson! What are you doing?” I screech.
Duke, the owner of the distracting muscular forearms, chuckles while balancing him back inside the cart.
“You should’ve seen my mom trying to wrestle me and my brothers through the grocery store. We would pretend the shopping carts were old wagons and ram them into each other. One time, we took out an entire center aisle of premade cupcakes on display for Valentine’s Day.”
The boys appear completely fascinated by him. They’re both staring up at the tall man wearing a brown cowboy hat like he’s a celebrity.
“Is that a weal cowboy hat?” Dutton asks.
The employee hands me my ID back, so I continue scanning the items in my cart, ignoring the quickening pace of my heart and my clenching stomach.
“Yeah, buddy, it sure is. You wanna try it on?” Duke asks.
