“Hey, Mom.”
“Hi, honey. I saw you called the other evening. Russ and I were at a concert in the city.”
I hear the road noise and know she’s in the car. I peek out the window. Slade crouches beside Ollie, watching the excavator dig a giant hole in my front yard to uncover the water main.
When we got back from the park, I ran over to grab the ingredients for dinner. We had lunch, and I put Frankie down for a nap while Slade took Ollie and Grover outside to rake and clean the downspouts.
With my entire front yard being excavated, I no longer have to worry about the mounds of rotting leaves.
“It’s ok. How was the concert?”
“It was so good.” She breaks into song but trails off. “How are you doing?” Her peppy tone is bright as usual.
“I’m ok. The water main cracked or something, and the basement flooded.”
“Well, that’s crap in an overflowing toilet.”
I smile cause she’s not wrong.
“Did you get the water out?”
“Yeah, a neighbor and some friends helped.”
I have purposely not told my mom about Slade. She would make it into something it’s absolutely not, and I don’t even want to try to explain it.
“That was nice of them. So, you’re making friends?”
I feel ten again, reassuring her I know how to be social. It wasn’t easy being the girl with two different colored eyes in a small town. Children are innately egocentric and use abnormalities as a means of exclusion, so I was often forced to the outside. My mom hasn’t forgotten the struggle.
Are Slade and I friends? I’m finding I really hope so.
“Yes. Are you heading home?” I attempt to avoid more questions.
“I’m meeting Russ at the pub later. I have a box of things to send with Roxie. I found a killer dress that will look amazing on you. You have to try it on and send me a picture.”
Of course there is, like I have use for a cute dress.
“I miss you and the kids. I wish you were coming home. I need to squeeze those babies. If you can’t come for Christmas, maybe Cynthia can cover me for a day or two after the holiday rush. She owes me for having to listen to her yak about her family drama.”
My mom lives for drama. The trailer park could be its own reality show.
“That would be fun, Mom.”
There’s a pause that’s far too long for my mom, and my skin prickles.
“So, I was in the Gas Stop this morning and ran into Rayanne. She said she heard on The Morning Show that Miles is the new Sunday anchor.”
It’s official. I should be paying attention to his social activity, but my anxiety soars just thinking about it.
“Yeah. He finally messaged me and told me he’s moving.”
Out the window, Ollie helps Slade gather a small pile of leaves while Grover barks and tries to bite the end of the rake.
“What will you do?” my mom asks as if I have options.
“What do you mean?”
“He told you if you moved back, he would pay support. Do you think he’s trying to pull that again?”
