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Authors: Amy Hatvany
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build something else with you?”
“No.” Charlie pouted.
Hannah stepped next to her daughter. “Leah, you need to give the block back to Charlie. He’s your guest.”
“No, no,” I said. “Charlie can share.” I rubbed my son’s arm. “Can’t you, Charlie?”
Charlie dropped his chin to his chest and shook his head.
I sighed. “Okay, then, I guess it’s time we go home.” I stood upand took his hand to lead him. He pulled, trying to fight me. I don’t know what the experts were thinking when they classified two-year-olds as “terrible.” It wasn’t until his third birthday that Charlie had occasionally seemed in need of an exorcism.
“Sorry,” I apologized to the group. “He needs a nap.”
“I do not!” Charlie protested. “
You
need a nap!”
“He’s right about that,” I said with a deep breath and a forced smile. What I really needed was to get him home. He could go from pouting and cutely sassy to a full-blown tantrum in ten seconds flat, something I didn’t feel comfortable having the other women witness. I couldn’t help but feel like his behavior reflected how good a job I was doing as his mother. If he lost it, it was like having to wear a dunce cap in front of the entire class.
“Thanks for having us, Hannah,” I said. “It was good to meet both of you. Leah’s wonderful.”
“Good to meet you, too,” Hannah said, hiking Leah up onto her hip.
“Here,” Susanne said, handing me my glass. “Looks like you might need it.”
I regarded the half-full glass, everything in me screaming to grab it and drink it down, knowing how quickly it would dissolve my growing tension. “I really shouldn’t,” I said.
“All right, then.” Susanne laughed and poured the rest into her own glass. “I’ll call you soon.”
“Mama, let’s go!” Charlie said, pulling me toward the front door.
“Okay, okay,” I said. I grabbed my purse and waved to the other women. “ ’Bye, everyone.”
With Charlie strapped into his car seat, I set my hands deliberately at ten and two on the steering wheel and slowly pulled out from the curb. I drove along, quietly humming “Fruit Salad” by the Wiggles. Charlie would listen to their CDs constantly if I’d let him, and as a result, I knew all the songs by heart.
As I turned the corner to my street singing “Dorothy the Dinosaur”under my breath, a car blared its horn long and loud, forcing me to slam on my brakes and bumping my chest against the steering wheel. I’d forgotten to put on my seat belt.
“Shit!” I exclaimed. I wasn’t going very fast, but still, my heart leapt into my throat and my eyes went straight to the rearview mirror. Charlie had zonked out within minutes of leaving Hannah’s house and miraculously didn’t seem disturbed by the jarring stop. His pink, bow-shaped lips smacked open and shut, but his eyes remained closed.
“There’s a stop sign there for a reason, lady!” the man yelled as he drove past, angrily flipping me off.
With my chest aching and adrenaline pulsing through my veins, I fastened my seat belt and took a couple of deep breaths before pushing on the gas.
I’ve turned this corner a thousand times—how the hell could I have missed that sign?
Of course, I knew why I’d missed it. I knew it from the wine-tinged, fuzzy feeling around my edges, the slightly loose, unhinged feeling in my joints. I drove down the block to my house, gripping the steering wheel until my knuckles were white, keeping the speedometer below ten miles per hour. I wondered how I could have been so stupid, putting Charlie’s life in danger like that. A moment later, as I pulled into the safety of my driveway, I counted my blessings, thankful that at least I had learned this lesson without anyone getting hurt.
As the economy declined, my freelance work became so sparse I started toying with the idea of going back to Peter Baskin, my editor at the
Herald,
and begging for my old job back. But the last thing I wanted to
“No.” Charlie pouted.
Hannah stepped next to her daughter. “Leah, you need to give the block back to Charlie. He’s your guest.”
“No, no,” I said. “Charlie can share.” I rubbed my son’s arm. “Can’t you, Charlie?”
Charlie dropped his chin to his chest and shook his head.
I sighed. “Okay, then, I guess it’s time we go home.” I stood upand took his hand to lead him. He pulled, trying to fight me. I don’t know what the experts were thinking when they classified two-year-olds as “terrible.” It wasn’t until his third birthday that Charlie had occasionally seemed in need of an exorcism.
“Sorry,” I apologized to the group. “He needs a nap.”
“I do not!” Charlie protested. “
You
need a nap!”
“He’s right about that,” I said with a deep breath and a forced smile. What I really needed was to get him home. He could go from pouting and cutely sassy to a full-blown tantrum in ten seconds flat, something I didn’t feel comfortable having the other women witness. I couldn’t help but feel like his behavior reflected how good a job I was doing as his mother. If he lost it, it was like having to wear a dunce cap in front of the entire class.
“Thanks for having us, Hannah,” I said. “It was good to meet both of you. Leah’s wonderful.”
“Good to meet you, too,” Hannah said, hiking Leah up onto her hip.
“Here,” Susanne said, handing me my glass. “Looks like you might need it.”
I regarded the half-full glass, everything in me screaming to grab it and drink it down, knowing how quickly it would dissolve my growing tension. “I really shouldn’t,” I said.
“All right, then.” Susanne laughed and poured the rest into her own glass. “I’ll call you soon.”
“Mama, let’s go!” Charlie said, pulling me toward the front door.
“Okay, okay,” I said. I grabbed my purse and waved to the other women. “ ’Bye, everyone.”
With Charlie strapped into his car seat, I set my hands deliberately at ten and two on the steering wheel and slowly pulled out from the curb. I drove along, quietly humming “Fruit Salad” by the Wiggles. Charlie would listen to their CDs constantly if I’d let him, and as a result, I knew all the songs by heart.
As I turned the corner to my street singing “Dorothy the Dinosaur”under my breath, a car blared its horn long and loud, forcing me to slam on my brakes and bumping my chest against the steering wheel. I’d forgotten to put on my seat belt.
“Shit!” I exclaimed. I wasn’t going very fast, but still, my heart leapt into my throat and my eyes went straight to the rearview mirror. Charlie had zonked out within minutes of leaving Hannah’s house and miraculously didn’t seem disturbed by the jarring stop. His pink, bow-shaped lips smacked open and shut, but his eyes remained closed.
“There’s a stop sign there for a reason, lady!” the man yelled as he drove past, angrily flipping me off.
With my chest aching and adrenaline pulsing through my veins, I fastened my seat belt and took a couple of deep breaths before pushing on the gas.
I’ve turned this corner a thousand times—how the hell could I have missed that sign?
Of course, I knew why I’d missed it. I knew it from the wine-tinged, fuzzy feeling around my edges, the slightly loose, unhinged feeling in my joints. I drove down the block to my house, gripping the steering wheel until my knuckles were white, keeping the speedometer below ten miles per hour. I wondered how I could have been so stupid, putting Charlie’s life in danger like that. A moment later, as I pulled into the safety of my driveway, I counted my blessings, thankful that at least I had learned this lesson without anyone getting hurt.
As the economy declined, my freelance work became so sparse I started toying with the idea of going back to Peter Baskin, my editor at the
Herald,
and begging for my old job back. But the last thing I wanted to
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