Thursday Nights (The Charistown Series) (38 page)

I had the perfect life.

Beautiful and loving husband.Three gorgeous little girls.

Successful career.

The only thing missing was the white picket fence. I really wanted that fence.

Three years ago, I lost that life. I lost my husband. And I lost myself. But, eventually, I found my way through the darkness. I’ve made peace with my new life. I have my girls, and that’s all that matters. They are my world. I have no illusions of ever falling in love again or getting whisked away on a white horse.

But then he came back into my life. On a freakin’ motorcycle.

There’s no way I’ll let him turn my life completely upside down. Absolutely no way.

The question is…

How long can I keep pretending that I’m happy with my life being right-side up?

“What the
hell
?” I mutter to myself, eyeing my reflection. I scoot closer to the mirror, practically sitting on the counter, and inch my way forward to get a better look at what exactly is going on with my hair. My dark brown hair is damp, falling in wavy layers to my shoulders. This is normal. What’s not normal is this one little area that’s just not cooperating. I tug at the one inch section of my long hair that will not lie down. It’s just sticking up, straight in the air, mocking me. Pulling on it, I notice that there’s a thick white film covering the entire section. And it’s sticky.
Great
.

I wipe my fingers on my old fluffy pink bathrobe and continue examining my hair in the mirror. This is
not
right. I know I just put a new product in my hair, but it’s supposed to make it soft and shiny like the gorgeous model on the commercial, not stick up like a ten year old boy with a cow lick. I grab the nearest brush,
My Little Pony – of course
, and attempt to tame this bastard.

“This is freakin’ ridiculous,” I say out loud as the brush catches when I try to pass it through my hair. I yank the brush as hard as I can and literally cringe in pain. I think I just pulled the entire section of hair out of my head. When the brush finally makes its way down the rest of my long hair, I catch a whiff.

“Mint?” I set the brush on the counter and reach for the serum I just put in my hair. I put my nose to the end of the pump. “Hmm, not mint.” I pick up the damp towel that just came off of my head and wet the end under the faucet in an attempt to get rid of whatever this mystery goop is in my hair. That’s when I finally see the culprit.

“You have
got
to be kidding me!” I suddenly want to rip every single strand of hair out of my head in frustration. I do
not
want to deal with this mess this morning. I just want an easy morning. When do I get to have an easy morning?

“Kyndall!” I yell from the bathroom, echoes bouncing off each wall, slamming mercilessly back onto my skull. It hurts my head. Or, maybe that’s just the residual pain from the recent hair assault I inflicted upon myself. I wait a couple of seconds…no response.

Hmm, this must mean that the TV which is
not
supposed to be on,
is
on.

“Kyndall!” I shout again, this time stomping my foot for added emphasis. I know she’s the only one who can be responsible for this mess. Not only because her older sister wouldn’t dare, or because her younger sister can’t reach the sink, but because this sort of situation…well – it’s just Kyndall. Like the time I found three days worth of my home cooked meals “hidden” in one of my decorative baskets in the kitchen. The brief stint at vegetarianism didn’t last long, but it would have been nice if she would’ve at least told me about it. Lots of ground beef was wasted and I have a lot of boxed meals that require it.

Sighing loudly, I start to step out of the bathroom when I hear the steps of my lovely seven year old daughter getting closer. I watch her pink tutu skirt bounce up and down as she skips happily down the hallway.

“Yes, Mama?” Oh, so innocent.

“Baby? Can you tell me what’s going on with the towel here? Can you tell me what this stuff is?” I bend down and hold the towel right in front of her face so she can see the blue goop to which I am referring.

I watch her eyebrows come together as a result of her full force concentration. “Um, toothpaste?”

“Yes, toothpaste. Can you tell me
why
there’s a big glob of it in the middle of my towel?”

“Well…” she pauses briefly and widens her eyes, obviously frustrated that I haven’t figured it out on my own. “It was all hard when I tried to squeeze the tube to get more toothpaste out, so I did what you told me to do last time. I wiped off all the extra toothpaste from the top and started over.”

So I guess, in essence, I have done this to myself.

Okay…

“Kyndall, sweetheart. I used a paper towel…not a towel, towel. We don’t use regular towels for that kind of stuff.”

Kyndall looks down at the towel and back up at me. “I’m sorry, Mama. I was just trying to do it myself.”

I can’t help but cave when I look at her beautiful blue-grey eyes. I just don’t know how this sweet child always manages to get herself, or me for that matter, into these unfortunate situations. I let out a sigh.

“It’s alright, Kyndall. Let’s just forget the use of
any
kind of towel. How about when it happens next time, you just rinse the top of the toothpaste under warm water to get the hard stuff off? Easy enough?”

“Yes ma’am.” She reaches up to touch the toothpaste infested section of my hair. “Eww – that’s sticky!” I lift my eyebrows, asking her if she really wants to reopen the argument. She drops her hand immediately. I assume that’s a no.

I let out another deep breath. “Okay. Now, where are Nycole and Rylie?”

“They’re watching cartoons in the living room.”

Ah-ha! I knew it!

“Can you run and tell them to hurry and eat because we need to load up to leave in about five minutes or we’re going to be late to school?”

“Sure.”

“Thanks, baby.”

“Mama?”

“Yes, ma’am?”

“I love you infinity.”

“I love you infinity times infinity.”

I give her a quick kiss on the cheek. I turn her little body toward the door and give her a light shove. “Now go tell your sisters!” I joke and smack her little behind. She laughs and skips down the hall. I watch her thick shoulder length brown hair bouncing up and down with a smile on my face. Turning back towards the mirror, my smile dissipates.

I look at my tired eyes and pale face. I pull the skin down under my eyes to examine the red blood vessels that seem to have taken over. I think I used to be pretty, at some point…but that seems so long ago. Lately, I’m the frumpy mom that I always told myself I’d
never
become. I mean sure, I dress decently enough for work. But I just look (and feel) so tired. Run down.

I don’t generally wear a lot of make-up, so the fact that I have long dark eyelashes helps. But my big brown eyes that used to look so alive with excitement and joy have been replaced with sad, tired, mournful eyes. And my hair? Let’s just say I support the ponytail look wholeheartedly.

I turn my attention back to my hair. Seriously, what am I supposed to do with this mess in five minutes?
Hmm…ponytail it is
. I sigh to myself as I think about how lovely it would be to actually
have
time to do my hair in the morning, to style it with something other than a hair band. I mean, having an actual style would be nice. But, to be able to take the time to style it, well, that would be beyond comprehension..

I would be unrecognizable at work. I would walk in to the office and it would be like one of those hair commercials; wind in my hair, hot guy gazing at me adoringly because I have beautiful
styled
hair. I would flip my hair in slow motion…

“Mama! Rylie’s picking her nose again!” I hear loud shrieks as the girls start running around the living room. “Eww! Mom! She keeps acting like she’s gonna wipe it on us! Help!”

Snapping out of my reverie, I quickly throw my thick brown hair back into its usual lame ass pony tail, trying to not think about the section of my hair that’s starting to bubble up. The same section of hair that is slowly forming a crusty top layer as the toothpaste begins to dry.

Oh well
, I think to myself, turning on the sink and throwing some water on it to make myself feel better. Who knows, maybe I’ll get lucky. Maybe the water has some magical mysterious element to dissolve the toothpaste. Giving myself one last look of disapproval, I dart quickly from the bathroom. I round the corner and enter the living room, finding all three of my beauties sitting quietly on the couch.

I guess the nose picking fiasco has ceased.

Nycole, my oldest, appears to be frozen in time; her spoon has only made it halfway to her mouth and seems to be stuck there. Brown curly hair perfectly braided, headband in and big brown eyes glued on the TV.

“Nyc.” Nothing.

“Nyc.” I clap my hands. Still nothing. Oh my God
. She’s in the TV.

“Nyc!” I shout, giving it one last try. She jumps in response, milk and cereal immediately spilling onto her neatly pressed plaid skirt. She shoots me a glare. I shoot her one back because honestly, that’s just uncalled for. I walk over and turn off the TV.

“I’m pretty sure I told you guys no TV. None of you have even remotely touched your breakfast, and now we have to go.” They all look down at their full cereal bowls with huge, longing eyes.

“Sorry,” I say, shaking my head in disbelief. “In the sink girls, come on…we’ve got to get going. We’re already running late.” I watch as they slowly get up from the couch and make their way to the kitchen.

“I told you not to turn it on, Kyndall. Now I don’t get my breakfast. Way to go.”

“Yeah, Kyndall. Nycole told you.”

I stand there, arms crossed over my chest, waiting for them to make their way back to the living room. My eyes land on Nycole as soon as she enters.

“If you knew it wasn’t supposed to be on, then why didn’t
you
turn it off, Nycole? Lead by example. Don’t just place blame. You’re nine years old and fully capable of operating the TV – I know you can because I’ve seen you do it. You know better.” I end my statement with a raise of my eyebrows.

“Yeah, but–”

“Nope. No excuses.”

“But–”

“Nyc .” I’m fully anticipating another rebuttal, but evidently she gets the point and stomps off. I guess she wants to make her point too.
Noted.

I turn my eyes to Kyndall. “Kyndall. You know better too, don’t you?”

I watch as her eyes swell with tears. “Yes, but, I just wanted Rylie to be quiet. She kept copying everything I was saying. Everything Mama. She wouldn’t stop. It was the only thing I could do to get her to be quiet. I’m sorry.” She looks down at the floor. I walk over and raise her chin so she looks at me. “I know it’s hard, but next time, just come get me. I can take care of her, that’s
my
job. You just come to me when she keeps doing stuff like that.”

I wipe a tear from her cheek with my thumb. “I’m not mad sweetheart, okay? Just go wait by the door. I’ll be there in a second.” I give her shoulder a quick squeeze. She offers me a slight smile in return and makes her way to the front door.

I turn my attention to the hellion of the group. I watch her while she attempts to do the robot. She flashes me her trademark dimples, no doubt trying to diffuse the situation. Her long spiral curly hair falls forward along with her head, dance clearly over. Right arm extended and bent at the elbow, she ends with a perfectly performed “hinge move”, her forearm still swinging back and forth. I stand there until she looks back up at me from underneath her mile long lashes, trying to wipe any evidence of a smile off of my face.

“Rylie, what did I say about copying your sisters?”

She giggles and responds with,
“Rylie, what did I say about copying your sisters?”

I close my eyes and count to ten.

“Rylie?”

“Rylie?”

“Seriously, stop it.”

“Seriously, stop it.”