Gravity, p.7
Gravity, page 7
For a brief second confusion clouds his face, but he recovers quickly. “Nice to meet you, Gracie. I’m Cub.”
I furrow my eyebrows. “Like…”
“Yes, like the bear. Cub Stent. Most of my buddies just call me Stent.”
“Nice to meet you, Stent.” I hold out my hand to shake his.
He shakes my hand back like a true gentleman with a firm and solid hold. “Nice to meet you.”
“Have a great day.”
He nods. “You as well.”
Then he walks off answering his phone as he does. Whatever awaits him at work seems serious and time sensitive. I spend the rest of the morning doing much of the same. The breakfast shift is the one to have since The Shed is the place to be. I’ve worked all three shifts, but the breakfast and early lunch crowd is the best and suits my schedule with Miss Juliette.
I have barely enough time to stop by the grocery store to pick up some items for a special dinner tonight. Of course, fried chicken nuggets are on the menu. I’m hoping to serve them on top of tossed salad greens with a side of cottage cheese. It’s a lost cause, but I’ll still try.
Grabbing each item and tossing them in the shopping cart, I drift off to the memories of Amos and his twinkling eyes. The memories have faded back in tremendously since returning to Montana. He’s still been my only love and boyfriend and always will be. I’m not sure how you get over a love like that.
After paying and bagging the groceries, I’m still in the pick-up line twenty minutes early. All day kindergarten is more overwhelming to me than it should be. It’s too much for my baby girl or at least that’s what my motherly brain screams. I strum my fingers on the steering wheel for a few moments until I can’t stand it any longer.
I step from the car and wait outside the kindergarten doors. I manage to see little bodies bustling around in the room, but can’t spot Juliette. I glance around looking for Cub, the other nervous parent, but see no sign of him. I then wonder if he’s still out at work. It makes me thankful that my father has at least helped me financially, so my work schedule is flexible.
The door finally bursts open with the teacher holding it wide. She gives each child a high five while exiting calling them by name. I grow nervous as little bodies exit and I still don’t see my Juliette.
I step closer growing more nervous by the minute. Is she hurt? Did someone hurt her feelings? I will beat their ass. Finally, I spot her in the line with a beaming smile and a sign of tired eyes. Juliette stops in front of her teacher reaching her little hand up to her and then abruptly wrapping her arms around her teacher’s legs.
I watch as her teacher’s eyes light up and she hugs Juliette as well. Juliette takes her time calling out several names and waving to classmates. She is her father through and through, charming the pants off anyone she meets.
“Mommy.” Juliette waves wildly picking up speed in my direction.
She leaps into my arms jabbering on about the day, all the friends she made, and how nice Mrs. Miller is. I let her talk and talk. She never once stops while I buckle her in and begin to drive home.
“Momma, I even made you a card and made one for Daddy. We also learned new songs and this boy named PJ even got into big trouble for never shutting up.”
I try to speak, but she never stops her rambling, so I listen to her. She tells me about her school day and that she now has a new BFF. Izzy. Izzy told my sweet Juliette how she only just made it into Kindergarten because her birthday is in August.
“Mommy, you know how I had to stay in baby school for an extra year?”
“You mean pre-school,” I correct her.
“Yes, baby school.” She wipes her hair from her eyes. “Izzy’s dad didn’t make her. She’s barely five. I was way over five when you made me stay back.”
I’m pretty sure Juliette will never forgive me. It was a selfish mother tactic. I needed her to be grounded and ready for school and extra time with her. I couldn’t be prouder that Juliette has made a friend so quickly, but with her Daddy’s charm, I’m not surprised.
The closer we near our house her voice slows down a bit. Before I turn off the car and get her out of her seat she’s in a light slumber. While unbuckling her she mumbles.
“Mommy, I’m bery tired, like dog poop tired.”
I smile and brush away the stray hair that’s escaped her ponytail. “I know, sweet butt.”
I pack her inside with her backpack dangling off one arm. I find it nearly impossible to unlock the door and keep everything balanced in my arms. The damn lock needs to be replaced. It’s old and rusty and I swear I’m going to break the damn key off in the lock every single time. Just one more thing to put on my to-do list.
Juliette doesn’t budge a muscle while I jostle her around. I lay her on the couch and cover her in the old Army hoodie. She nuzzles it while burrowing down. Her breathing rapidly grows steady and deep. I take the time to study her precious little face.
“I love you so much, Juliette.” I kiss her forehead before standing up.
She’s so gorgeous and so insanely kind, it makes my heart melt. I know every parent says that about their child. Juliette is my sunshine even on the rainiest of days. Even when she's naughty, she still brightens my damn day.
I leave the house door open while I sprint to the car to gather the groceries. I keep my eye on the door the whole time. Juliette has developed a new phobia of being left alone. I’m not sure what’s sparked it, but it’s definitely there. So, I make sure to be at her side all the time in hopes of her feeling safe and secure.
I make it into the house with the bags strewn all over the kitchen counters. I first go for the bag containing my bottle of wine. It’s well deserved surviving this monumental day. I uncork the bottle of sweet, red wine and pour myself a large glass as I go about putting away the rest of the groceries. When I go to pull open the door of the refrigerator, I come face-to-face with my favorite selfie of Amos and me from years ago.
It’s days like these I miss him more than possibly imaginable. The pain has never dulled, rather life takes over and I’m forced to handle shit. The pads of my fingers sweep over his bright smile and then I focus in on his eyes. The tears immerge. I rarely let myself feel the sadness, but today with our baby attending her first day of school, it is just all too much.
“I miss you, Romeo,” I whisper.
I wait for a response knowing it will never come.
“Our baby rocked kindergarten today. She has your charm.”
I gently kiss his lips while the tears flow.
“I love you.” I run my fingers over the picture of us one final time before going back to putting the groceries away.
I’m two glasses down and feeling relaxed when I finish chopping the final round of vegetables for dinner. Juliette’s chicken is in the oven keeping warm. I finally fall to the couch with a half glass of wine and watch her sleep away.
I’ll give her fifteen minutes before I have to wake her up. It’s a damn double edge sword when you have to wake a sleeping child, that’s for sure. The television springs to life and I search the DVR to catch up on The Bachelor. I’m a glutton for punishment or just a hopeless romantic. Reality T.V. is one of my indulgences. I feel like a person my age while watching and soon drift off to what could’ve been.
The annoying and very whiny women make me want to drive a spork into my eardrum, but I keep watching. I finish the last episode I had recorded and then decide to wake Juliette for dinner and bath time.
I set my empty wine glass down and pull her into my lap. She keeps the hoodie clutched to her chest while rustling around in my arms. I pull the elastic band from her long, dark brown hair letting it tumble down her back. It’s thick and straight just like mine. I finger comb it out while whispering in her ear. At one point, I’m pretty sure she won’t budge.
“Juliette, time for dinner, sweet butt.”
“I’m going to bite you.”
I laugh. “You’re a vampire now?”
“I’m tired and want to sleep. I bite.”
“Remember.” I rub circles on her back. “You won the bet. I made you a special dinner.”
“Nuggets.”
“Did you just call me nuggets?” I poke at her ribs.
She giggles lightly, squirming in my arms. “No.”
“I think you called me nuggets.”
“It’s not a bad word.” She squeals louder when my fingers really get to tickling her.
She finally leaps off my lap, flops on the ground, and rolls around until her fit of laughter subsides.
“Mommy.”
“Yes.” I stand up from the couch and hold my hand out for her to take.
“Why are there black lines under your eyes?”
“Where?” I pat my face out of instinct.
I place her up on the counter watching her reach out and trace the mascara lines running down my face.
“Happy tears, sweet butt, very happy tears about your first day of school.”
Lying to your child never comes easy, but it’s the metal armor you wear to defend them.
“My teacher is so nice.” She clutches her heart.
“Yeah?” I ask, while preparing our plates.
She’s been a monkey since old enough to crawl. Once Juliette figured out how to work her arms and legs she scaled everything. It drove me nuts forever until I realized she was nimble enough to conquer all, so her sitting on the counter while I fix her plate is nothing.
“Mommy, she told me poop happens.”
“What?” I whirl around with our plates in hand.
“I keep having the farts and was afraid of the bathroom, but poop happens, Mommy.”
I bite down on my bottom lip to stifle the laughter. I was never graced with a polite princess. Nope, I have Juliette who speaks her mind and now clearly believes in the fact that poop happens.
I drizzle some dressing on both of our salads, pour our glasses of milk, and then grab her from the counter to place her in her chair next to me. She never lasts long there. She’ll eventually end up in my lap picking off my plate after she’s eaten everything off hers that she liked.
“Mommy, what’s this green crap?”
I clear my throat after my first bite. “You mean stuff?”
“No, it’s crap, poop, caca, sh..”
“Juliette.”
“Mommy, they’re vile weeds.”
Thank you, Seinfeld, for that damn reference.
“Eat your chicken and be happy.”
“I’m always happy, Mommy.”
“Oh, really.”
“Yep, because of you.”
Juliette hops into my lap, scooting her plate near mine; she forks my chicken off my plate before eating hers. My cheek relaxes down on the top of her head inhaling her scent and thanking God for her.
16
Gracie
Juliette walks out of her classroom with her head drooped and a little orange jack-o-lantern in her hand. She doesn’t race to me like she has the past weeks. She barely gives Mrs. Miller a high five and when she’s halfway to me she wipes at her eyes with the back of her hands.
“Juliette,” I call out.
She doesn’t lift her head, but continues to walk toward me. I see Cub and give him a half shrug. We’ve only exchanged pleasantries over the last few months.
“Baby.” I drop to my knees and pull her to me. “What’s wrong?”
“Mommy, I just want to go.”
“Okay.” I smooth her hair out and scoop her up in my arms.
I buckle her in and then sit in the driver’s seat buckling my own seatbelt. I drive toward home giving her a few minutes to digest what’s happened.
“Can we pick a new town, Mommy?”
I glance back at Juliette to see tears rolling down her cheeks. “Why, sweet butt?”
“I lost my best friend today.” She wails hard.
“Juliette.” I grip the steering wheel wanting to pull the car to the side of the road and hold her. “Baby, it will be okay.”
“No, Mommy. She tolded me she hated me and I was dumb and mean.”
“Whoa. Whoa. Did you tell Mrs. Miller about this?”
“Yes, we got into big trouble and it’s all my fault.” She begins wailing again.
The mother in me is boiling and questioning why in the hell the school didn’t call me today. I try to count to ten while driving the last few blocks home, but nothing works because all I can see is a vibrant red. The tires on my car squeal as I rip it into the driveway and then slam it into park.
I hold the door open and watch Juliette unbuckle from her booster seat. I drop to my knees and hold my arms out when her little orange flats hit the cement. She drops in my arms and I let her sob. It takes everything inside of me not to shake the story out of her.
“Tell me what happened, sweet butt.”
She steps back with her lower lip quivering. Juliette takes time to wipe the tears from her face. She begins talking with an unsteady voice.
“Izzy, you know my bestest friend?”
“I do, sweetie.”
“Well, I made her a special cheer at recess,” she pauses beginning to cry again. “She hated it, Mommy.”
“Oh, sweetie.” I hug her again and let out a baited breath.
She steps back. “Want to see my cheer?”
I nod my head and then wait on her to wipe more tears away.
“Mommy, I’m too sad to do the moves. I’ll just say the words.”
I nod my head in encouragement.
“Izzy, Izzy your hair is so frizzy. Frizzy frizzy is my Izzy Izzy. Izzy you is so frizzy,” she sings out in a sing-songy voice.
I bite my bottom lip to cage in the laughter. I’m instantly transported back to her father’s rhyming and compliment skills.
“Then everyone started laughing and telling her she was so frizzy.” Juliette bounds back to my arms. “I was just rhyming and trying to make a song for her.”
“It will be okay, Juliette. I promise.”
I pick her up, balance her backpack on one arm while digging for the house keys.
“Fucking lock,” I whisper to myself.
“Uh, Momma?”
“Nothing, sweetie.” The damn lock finally creaks open, but this time I really did bust the damn key off in the lock. Instead of focusing in on the negativity, I talk to Juliette.
“Did you apologize to Izzy?”
She nods into the crook of my neck. “Yes, Mommy. Lots and lots.”
“You didn’t happen to rhyme when you did?”
“No.” Juliette sniffles loudly. “Mrs. Miller helped me and told me I’m not mean.”
“You’re not, baby.”
“But the whole class hates me and so does Izzy,” she wails again.
Oh for the love of God and all little girls please help me here. I don’t ask for help much, but I could use a whole can of it right now.
“I’m going to run you a bath. You need to settle down. Everything will be okay.” I sit Juliette down in the entry way and kick the fucking, broken door closed.
“So can we pick a new town, Mommy?” Juliette asks, twiddling her fingers.
“Life doesn’t work that way.” I ruffle her hair. “We will get through this.”
I run a tub of warm water with Juliette’s favorite bubble bath. I toss in all of her Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and even light a few candles. Juliette loves making a production out of everything. She enters the bathroom with red swollen eyes still sniffling.
Her blue eyes light up a bit when she takes in the scene. I help her in the tub and stay kneeling next to it. I typically use the time to start a load of laundry or start dinner.
“My life is over,” Juliette wails.
“Hey, listen. Want to hear about the fights I had?”
She nods.
“You have to promise that you’ll quit crying, okay?”
She nods again while splashing a turtle around in the bubbles.
“I use to move around all the time when I was little because my father was in the military.”
“Like Daddy?”
“Kind of yes.” I soap up her back running small circles on it. “I quit making friends because it hurt too much when I moved. Well, at one school I met your daddy. He was funny, nice and never did his darn homework.”
She giggles lightly.
“There were some girls, mainly one, who didn’t like me being friends with your daddy. She said mean things to me all the time in front of other people.”
“Like what?”
“That I was ugly and plain.” I rinse both of my hands off in the warm water not particularly enjoying recalling the events. “But Daddy was always nice to me and I never did anything to provoke this mean girl. The point is I wanted to stay at the school because if I just ran, then I’d be losing.”
“But I wasn’t being mean to Izzy.”
“I know, sweetie.” I run a cup of water over her tilted up head. “So that convinces me even more that everything will be just fine.”
“I hope your convincing is right.”
“It will be. We can even write Izzy another note, okay?”
She nods and soon becomes entertained with her toys. When I’m done washing her hair and body, I perch on the side of the tub studying her. When your child hurts, it’s the worse type of pain imaginable. Times like these it would be nice to have a shoulder to lean on.
I close my eyes imagining the things Amos would be telling his little girl. I’m one hundred percent certain that I’d have to be censoring him, but also positive he’d have his little girl in stitches of laughter and feeling okay in a matter of seconds. They’d be the best of friends glued to each other’s sides. I pop open my eyes wiping away the scene because it only rips open the wound that much wider.
We get through dinner, homework that ironically is a rhyming lesson, and a few episodes of Juliette’s favorite cartoon. The third time I nod off I decide it’s bedtime. Even though Juliette has her own room, she always sleeps with me. I tuck her into her side of the bed and go to my bathroom to wash my face and brush my teeth.
By the time I’m done, Juliette is lightly snoring with the Army hoodie tucked under her arm. Her little thumb is propped on her bottom lip. She was a thumb sucker when a toddler, but broke the habit on her own. I only catch her sucking on it in her sleep or brushing her lip with her thumb.
