I wonder what else those lips could do?
His eyebrows furrow. “Did you say something?”
Did I?“Nope!” I say, my voice high-pitched and far from convincing.
“Well, have a good day,” he says, his lips now firmly pressed into a straight line. It makes them no less tempting.
“You too!” I say, much too cheerfully for this awkward Wednesday morning.
I wrestle Crew back into the cart, but he screams, wanting to be held again.
I turn away from aisle seven, vowing never to return, and head straight to the check stand.
A line opens and I pick up speed. Not like it’s a race or anything, but if that lady with fifty cans of chili in her cart beats me, the entire store will have to listen to a kid in hysterics for even longer.
Really, I’m doing the world, and the lady, an act of service by sliding in front of her at the last second.
“Sorry,” I say, but in my head, I’m doing a victory dance right over the five candy bars I knocked off the shelf with my cart.
She mutters something at my back, but I pretend to ignore her.Sorry, can’t hear you over my child crying.
It takes every ounce of energy I have to keep a still-upset Crew in the cart while I load my groceries onto the belt. The cashier starts the belt and scans my items at a leisurely pace.
One box of mac ‘n cheese.
“You hurt my feelings!” Crew sobs.
One half-gallon of milk.
“I’m so sad.”
One box of off-brand cereal.
I retrieve a full grocery bag and turn to the cart, but catch the edge of the handlebar with my stomach. I cross my legs and clutch my midsection.
Bladder, don’t fail me now.
The lady snorts over the tabloid magazine she’s been feigning interest in for the past five minutes.
I get it now. This is karma for me cutting her off. Good thing karma and I are old acquaintances. She’s always been there to remind me of the error of my ways.Karma must be related to my mother.
The cashier finally finishes, and I manage to pay for my food with the measly amount of cash remaining in my purse.
“Have a lovely day,” the cashier says as I steer my cart away.
Crew’s screams reach a deafening volume.
Now I’m dreaming of that cell again.
If I had extra hands, I’d pull him into my arms and try to soothe his cries, but my sole focus is on getting home with some sanity still intact.
“Take me back!” Crew screams as we step out into the miserable Arizona heat. “I don’t want you!”
“Let’s calm down, honey.” My smile is made of plastic, the faulty kind that’s supposed to hold up under any condition but instead warps the first time it’s placed in the microwave. Which is exactly what’s happening as countless onlookers shoot worried looks our way. That is the one thing I’d never get used to. Yes, I know my child is screaming, and I look somewhat deranged right now, but he’s not being abducted, I promise. He’s just dramatic, obviously.
Parking the cart near the trunk of my car, I lift out Crew and one of his thrashing arms gets tangled in my hair. My head jerks back, hard.
“Ow,” I groan.
