Page 6 of Give & Take
I lower my phone. The ball is in the water once more, only this time it’s floated twenty feet down the beach.
“Oh for God’s sake.” I stand up, ready to tell Nova she can kiss her screen time goodbye later. But when I take in her face, I see genuine regret.
I know my daughters well enough to know when they’re telling the truth.
My shoulders soften. I’m still annoyed by how rotten my eight-year-old has been lately—especially when I know she’s so sweet on the inside—but her face is now panicky. “I didn’t mean to, Mom!”
“Can you get it?”
Nova nods. I give her a go-ahead gesture and she springs into action.
I grab Aurora’s hand and we follow as Nova sprints down the beach, her little runner’s legs helping her close in on the ball surprisingly fast. I wince as she sprays sand onto some poor woman’s back on the way and apologize as we pass. It’s a beautiful young woman and she graciously waves and tells us it’s no problem.
I remember when I was that age. Not a care in the world except hanging out with friends and sunning the body I thought was so terribly imperfect.
“Is she gonna catch it?” Aurora asks, her red curls bouncing as she skips to keep up next to me. “Chris gave us that ball, she’s gonna be sad if we lose it.”
“Yes sweetheart. She’s fast. And Chris won’t mind at all.”
Chris is my coworker at the Dinghy. At twenty-eight, she’s twelve years my junior, but still one of my best friends, though our relationship definitely leans to big/little sister. Without the bickering. She’s also the definition of chill and won’t care in the least about a dollar store beach ball.
Nova splashes into the water, jumping on the ball like she’s wrestling an alligator.
Aurora shrieks her excitement, letting go of my hand to jump up and down. Despite Nova’s antagonizing,our sweet little Aurora thinks her big sister hung the moon.
My phone buzzes. It’s another text from Shelby about my ex, in all caps.
LANA: Sorry, at the beach. Kids wreaking havoc.
SHELBY: What? Where? We’re at the beach too!
I look around. The beach is long, but not that long. We’re in the more crowded area away from the brush and rocks now. I hold my hand over my eyes, looking for Shelby. She’s hard to miss at seven months pregnant.
“Mom!” Aurora cries, a look of panic on her little face. Her hands are on her cheeks Home Alone style.
I look over just in time to see Nova sprinting in an arc toward the ball, which is positioned all on its own in the sand, awaiting its fate.
Nova plays soccer during the school year. She has an excellent kick. A little too excellent.
“Nova!” I cry out.
I’m too late. Her bare foot connects with the ball in a loudpocksound. It flies hard in the direction of the most crowded section of sunbathers, because of course.
“Watch out!” I call, forgetting in the moment I’m supposed to say something like “Heads up!” But I’m not a sports person.
And of course, the ball smacks some poor guy right in the side of the head, making—hand to God—a comicalboing!noise.
The guy’s so surprised he drops his paperback.
“Oh my God.” Even though Aurora’s five, she’s small, so I swing her onto my hip for speed as I move fast in their direction, my feet slipping in the sand. You never know how some people will react to kids being kids. Albeit naughty kids who know exactly what kind of havoc they’re going to wreak.
“I’m sorry,” I call, even though I’m too far away for him to hear me. “I?—”
The guy stands up. He’s wearing a ball cap, so I can’t see his face. But Nova stands in front of him, looking a little scared.
My stomach plunges. If this guy tries to reprimand my kid I’m going to lose it. The other day an old man on the ferry yelled at Aurora for daring to sing quietly in the seat next to him and I told him I hoped his egg salad sandwich gave him e-coliandsalmonella. Not my finest moment.
“Now you’ve done it,” the guy says loudly.
