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Predictably, Aliya’s response was thick with sarcasm. “Amber Savory—is that for real?”

“Yep.”

“Sounds like a stripper name,” Aliya said.

“Aliya, that’s not—” Grace tried to keep things proper.

“Screw that, Gracie.” Aliya wasn’t proper. “So you’re saying that he wants to move out so he can date her. He’s not screwing her?”

“Oh, no. He’s a stand-up kind of guy,” I deadpanned. “He informed me they’ve only been secretly meeting the next town over for coffee and drinks for months.” I gave my words dramatic effect to convey how selfless James was in laying this out for me—yes, my snark and sarcasm were running high. “They’ve been going out of their way to save my feelings, and it doesn’t define an affair because he hasn’t actually fu—” I glanced in the rearview mirror to check on Aaron and questioned the noise-canceling effect of the headphones. I lowered my voice. “Regardless, he thinks everything he’s done so far has been fair, and I have no right to be upset.”

“He’s ending your marriage and thinks you should be okay with it?” Even level-headed Grace seemed put off by this conclusion.

I shrugged as if she could see me as I pulled into the roundabout that led to the front of the school. As a carefully choreographed dance, minivans and SUVs stopped, kids spilled out with their bags, and doors slammed as they walked up the sidewalk leading to the school entrance. The cars drove off, and another set of cars moved up.

That was until…Serina Shiffner and her son, her special snowflake.

This was not the day I wanted to be stuck behind them.

I slammed my hand on the steering wheel. Was there such a thing as drop-off line rage?

As Aliya and Grace outlined all the ways we could get away with maiming my soon-to-be ex-husband without being caught, the woman in front of me exited her car. She opened the passenger door, chauffeur style, for her very capable seventh grader. She grabbed his lunch and musical instrument, handed them to him, and then—wait for it—hugged him before he walked away from the car and closed the door. With a slew of other cars waiting for her to move her designer yoga pants-wearing butt, she stood there and watched him leave. Then she waved before casually getting back in her SUV with a goddamn smile on her face, as if it were their first day of kindergarten, not a Wednesday in April.

Nope. I was done. Four-letter words exploded as I lost control of my mouth and mind. As my hand reached for the horn, a far steadier one landed on my shoulder and settled me.

Once again, I knew that even the most effective noise-canceling headphones couldn’t keep Aaron from hearing me. His ultra-sensitive hearing was his superpower, his curse, and sometimes my burden.

I turned my head and peered into the same eyes as mine. “It’s okay, Mom. Relax.”

The administrator knocked on my window and motioned me forward. I pulled the car up as Aaron undid his seatbelt, ready to do our part in the drop-off dance.

Through my earbuds, Grace said, “Tell your boy Auntie Gracie loves him.”

“And his Auntie Aliya,” Aliya interjected.

He opened the back door and jumped out, slamming the door behind him.

“Aunt Grace and Aliya said to have a good day,” I shouted, but he’d already been herded into the pack heading into the school.

“Is he gone?” Aliya asked conspiratorially, ready to move on with more James bashing.

With a quick check in my rearview mirror, I put the car in drive?—

“Oh, crap!”

Aaron’s lunch bag was dead center in the backseat.

If Aaron realized he’d forgotten his lunch, that simple change in his routine would unravel his morning. Even if I brought it into the office afterward, it would throw off his routine, which could spiral through the rest of the day.

Not today. God, help me. I couldn’t deal with a call from the school today.

“What? What is it?” Grace said.

Hard stop. I leaned over the passenger seat, and my eyes darted around for Aaron as he approached the entrance. The administrator was two car lengths ahead and not close enough for me to flag down. “Son of a bitch.” I threw the car in park and cursed like a sailor as I took off my seatbelt, reached behind me, grabbed the lunch, and threw open my car door. Grace’s voice cut out as I ran in my tie-dyed Crocs and not-meant-for-public ensemble, passing the line of cars up the sidewalk and to the school entrance, waving the lunch bag at my son like a surrender flag.

“Aaron, your lunch!”

I practically horse-collared my baby boy, tugging on his backpack to get his attention, and shoved the lunch in his hands. Without a hug, additional words, or an awkward goodbye, I walked out of the school with all the moxie I could manage.