Twenty Seven
Lyndi
AllIseeisbrown. Brown, brown, and more brown. With a few blue and white packages in the midst. I can’t even think straight right now.
The last few days, the packages have been accumulating faster than I can even discard the trash.
At first, I was excited, a little flattered even. But then the packages kept coming, the contents growing more and more concerning. Sixteen bottles of self-tanner, which I found personally offensive. How many did they think it would take? A french fry costume, I’m assuming meant for Ward. But the worst was the stuffed bird. Not one of those soft plushy toys, but a real used-to-be-alive-but-is-now-dead-and-stuffed bird from a taxidermist. The company promised they could preserve anything and if I “loved him, I could keep him forever!”
I promptly screamed and threw the creepy, beady-eyed little monster in the trash, then considered burning the entire dumpster.
On top of all the weird items and dozens of different makeup products, I received a five-hundred-dollar gift card to Wendy’s from Miss Wendy, aka Dave Thomas himself. So if all else fails, Crew and I can eat fries and frosties for the next month and a half, give or take.
When I called Maddie to complain, all she did was come over and help Crew rip into packages, documenting who to tag online. Then she left, promising to come back and help me with the mess when she had more time. At this point, I think it would be easier to burn the place down than clean it.
I happen to know a good firefighter.
I don’t want all this stuff. I couldn’t even enjoy Ward being all sexy and dad-like with Crew earlier because I was too self-conscious about all the clutter. He probably thinks I’m up to my eyeballs in debt.
I need to get this junk cleaned up, but I was hoping to make dinner for Ward as a thank you for looking at the toilet. I’m no Betty Crocker, but I do have some manners.
Will muffins cut it? Because that’s all I have ingredients for. I check the freezer again, hoping maybe a masterfully made chicken cordon blue meal will appear. No such luck.
I grab the muffin recipe and get to work. By the time I get the curiously lumpy mixture in the oven, I feel less overwhelmed. Crew has been enjoying all the new things, and the mess. The least I can do is enjoy it for a little bit as well before I throw it all away.
“Crew?”
“In here, Mommy. I made a fort.” I look around for wiggling cardboard, but it’s all wiggling.
“Oh no. The cardboard monster got my baby!” I storm through the packaging, kicking and tossing up pieces of cardboard like a monster hunter.
He laughs, the sweet sound dispelling the rest of my frustrations. “Over here, Mommy.”
I trip over a piece of cardboard, and my only stable foot slides on packaging paper. There’s nothing to grab for and no time to stop the inevitable. I hit the ground with a thud, and my wrist crumples on contact. Pain shoots up my arm. I roll to my side, clutching my wrist to my chest and trying but failing to keep tears from springing to my eyes.
I let out a wail, then stifle it quickly before Crew can hear it.
The packaging moves beside me. Too late.
“Mommy, are you okay?” Crew pops up and looks at me. His big blue eyes go wide when he sees my tears, and then his fill with liquid. “No, Mommy. You’re not hurt. You’re okay.”
“I’m okay, baby.” I pat his back with my good hand, and he cuddles up in my lap.
“You don’t go to the doctor, okay?” he cries into my chest.
“I’ll try, honey,” I whisper, dropping a kiss on his curls. “Can you go find Mommy an ice pack?”
It takes him five minutes to get through the mess and locate an ice pack, then he returns to his spot on my lap.
The ice hits my skin and I scream. Crew’s cries pick up.
What do I do?
There’s a pounding on the door. “Lyndi?”
Ward.
“Are you okay? I’m coming in.”
