Chapter One
I’ve always been resourceful, even before kids. My life requires it.
“Are they ready?” Clementine asks, jumping up and down.
“Just hang on a sec, Tiny.” I slap the final piece of duct tape on the hem of her jeans and then fold down the cuff. “There. Now they’re tailor-made for you.”
After handing them over to Clementine, I watch her pull the bright pink second-hand pants on her four-year-old frame. Her smile is contagious. I knew she’d love them the moment I saw the pants on the rack at the thrift store, two sizes too big.
“They’re perfect, Mama.” She squeezes my neck tight and kisses my cheek, making me laugh.
I tickle her until she’s rolling on the floor in a heap of giggles. “Now your grandma won’t fuss about your pants dragging past your feet.” I grab the tape and scissors and stand up from her bedroom floor. “Now where’s your brother? We have to get going. My shift starts in a half hour.”
“Benny!” Tiny shouts, bounding out of her pink and purple bedroom, looking for her twin brother.
I follow after her down the single hallway of our three-bedroom rambler, toward the kitchen. Built in the 1950s, it’s solid and simple and I still thank my lucky stars we were able to find this rental last year.
“We can’t afford this,” I’d said, looking back at Ledger, who had brought me here.
“I got a raise, baby,” he said, eyes as green as pine trees. He pulled me into his arms and he kissed me hard and I laughed. Three whole bedrooms. A back yard. A washing machine. A dryer. No more pockets full of quarters.
The smile is still on my face. Now, I shove the mending supplies in the kitchen junk drawer and I look up to see Benny perched on a stool at the table. He’s forgotten his Crunchios, and is instead busy working on the Lego set he just earned for not having any nighttime accidents for a week. We may be pinching pennies, but incentives work. And I’m good at stashing my tips until I’ve saved the cash I need for my kids.
“Hey, buddy, we gotta go.” I look at the clock on the microwave. “We’re already late.”
He takes his last few bites of cereal, pointing to his creation. “Can I bring it with me?” He turns, seeing me with a quart-sized plastic baggie, and he smiles. “Thanks, Mama.”
I turn off the coffee pot and toss my phone in my purse, pulling my unruly curls into a hair-tie as I walk to the front door. Tiny’s bright pink legs race past me, Benny following close behind. It’s going to be a hot day but she insisted on those pants. I couldn’t resist her pleas. And why would I? Life is hard enough; no reason to deny a little girl a simple pleasure.
The moment I start the car, I groan, calculating the cost of a much-needed tank. I make sure the kids are buckled into their booster seats before I back the minivan out the driveway. Bethany is in her yard, filling up the kiddie pool, her six-month-old, Neva, in her arms, and Thomas, her three-year-old, running around in circles with their dog. She waves at me and I roll down the window.
“Hey, Penny, heading to work?” she asks.
I nod. “Yeah, my mom’s watching the kids.”
“I can always help.” Neva starts crying and Bethany bounces her on her hip.
I smile, knowing my closest friend has her hands full enough as it is. “My mom likes having the kids around.”
“Ledger home soon?”
“Tonight.” Smirking, I add, “Which means I should probably clean up a bit.”
Bethany laughs. “Hey, we need a wine night soon. Word on the street is Joanne and Marty split. I’ve got too much gossip and no one to spill it with.”
“I’m in,” I say, waving goodbye. I keep the window down. It’s only nine in the morning, but it’s mid-August in western Washington and the heat is here to stay for the next month at least. Punching on the radio with my index finger, I pick a morning talk station. Benny is kicking the back of my seat, and I reach back and grab his feet while waiting at a stop light. “Chill out, Benjamin,” I say, regretting that sugary cereal.
“Yeah, Benny. Take a chill pill,” Tiny says.
I snort. “Don’t say that.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s, like, talking about drugs,” I tell her, taking a right turn, heading toward my mom’s apartment. “It’s not appropriate.”
“Thomas says it.”
“But we aren’t in charge of Thomas, are we?”
A news story breaks through the pop culture chatter of the radio show hosts. “An accident on Highway 12 has created southbound traffic delays. A semi-truck hit the guardrail on exit 93, just after Steven’s Pass. Update to follow.”
I grit my teeth; I hate stories about accidents, especially those involving semi-trucks. After getting gas, I turn into the parking lot of my mom’s complex, and I tell the kids to behave.
“I mean it, Grandma still has to work today. You need to be helpful, okay? If you’re good, she’ll take you swimming.”
“We promise,” Tiny and Benny say in unison as I park the van. Tiny may be more compliant than Benny, but I know I won the mom lottery with the pair of them. The least expected outcome of getting pregnant by a man I hardly knew was that I would fall in love with motherhood and my baby daddy in one fell swoop. But I did. I’m the luckiest girl who never once pictured herself so damn settled at twenty-five.
But here I am, lugging a tote bag filled with changes of clothes and swimsuits, books, and sunblock into my mom’s apartment. Full-on mom mode. That’s me. Penny Stone, waitress, wife, mother of two. Living a dream… just not the dream I ever imagined for myself. This is a far cry from a Paris bistro sipping rosé, with a pencil and notebook, scribbling my thoughts as I sit at a table for one. No customers for me to wait on in sight.
“Mom?” I call out, opening her unlocked door. The apartment is tidy, small, and outfitted in cast-offs that tenants have left over the years.
The moment I enter her place, I walk to the sliding glass doors, pull them open. The air in here is always so heavy, even though I know she’s making an effort not to smoke in front of the kids.
She’s on the phone and holds up a manicured finger as we come inside, a weekly stop at the nail salon for a fill and polish is her only real indulgence. I think she was disappointed that I was never up for mani and pedi dates. Her only daughter — only child — and I never cared much for sparkly things. Clementine, though, fulfills Mom’s need to pamper a girl in pink. I don’t care, and Clementine loves it. Benny can be my sidekick, though to be fair, he’s already walking to a shelf and pulling down a bin of dolls.
Stubbing out her cigarette into an ashtray, she ends the call. “Sorry, number eight needs maintenance. Dishwasher is busted.”
“It’s fine, I know you have to work today. Thanks for watching the kids. I didn’t want to pass up the shift.”
“It’s fine.” She waves a hand in the air. “Managing this place is easy, you know that.”
And I do. I spent my last few years of high school living here, just Mom and me. “The kids are hoping to swim later. They promise to be good, don’t you?” I give them raised eyebrows. They’re already on the floor opening the plastic bins filled with Barbies, my childhood leftovers Mom was smart to preserve.