Page 12 of Glad You're Here
Jo had called me this morning in complete panic. Her babysitter canceled on her, and her backup babysitter was out of town. How did I earn the number three spot on her list? We may never know.
I asked her why she didn’t call her mom to watch the kids, but she started rambling and making weird excuses. Ultimately, I caved to her desperation even though my wrists, hips, and ankles ached, and I already had plans to meet Levi at the train museum.
“Yay!” the littlest shit yelled and clapped his paint-smeared hands.
After twenty minutes of hand washing and cat-herding, I got Jo’s kids in my car. Mother of the Year only left me a booster seat for the littlest one, but all three looked like they could still use the extra height. Even the nine-year-old didn’t seem tall enough to ride without one.
I sighed. I was being judgmental. What did I know about car seat safety laws? And maybe booster seats were expensive. Maybe Jo did her best. At least she stuck around for her kids.
I felt a flash of guilt, thinking about all the times I’d considered ending my life, but then I shook it away. I didn’t have anyone that depended on me. Nobody needed me like a kid needs their mom.
I drove Jo’s boys to the train museum and parked. “Don’t run in the street!” I yelled as all three piled out of the car at once. There’s another funny thing about death. When an elderly person dies, we accept it. We were expecting it, waiting for it even. But when a kid dies, it’s awful. It’s tragic and unnatural, and we can’t wrap our brains around it.
Maybe that’s why I grabbed the littlest one’s hand before he darted across the street. “Bro, why is your hand sticky?” I asked him. He gave me a toothy grin in response. Seriously though, we’d spent twenty minutes scrubbing these paws.
When we reached the train museum entrance, Levi leaned against the red brick wall, scrolling through his phone. He had some scruff, like his razor earned a break. It looked good. Levi wore black sunglasses, a black fitted t-shirt, and jeans. In a fitted shirt, he didn’t look like he was rocking a dad bod. Maybe those button-downs he wore the last two nights were too big. He needed a shopping trip.
I wasn’t the girl for that sort of activity. Shopping malls were the scourge of the earth. Target was even worse. Levi looked like he needed a pretty little doe-eyed woman to take him to Target, fawn over him, and buy him a flavored latte at the in-store Starbucks. Cute.
Levi glanced up, saw me and Jo’s kids, and tore his sunglasses off with confusion written all over his adorable face. “You have kids?”
“Yep.” I nodded. “This is my little Henry, Jacob, and Tommy.”
Levi blinked at me.
Jo’s kids wrinkled their faces in confusion.
Finally, the oldest one gave me away. “Those aren’t our names, and she’s not our mom.”
Levi blinked again. “Thea?” he asked, a small smile forming. “Where did you find these children, and do we need to return them somewhere close by?”
I rolled my eyes, trying not to smile at how Levi played along. “This is Damien, Leo, and Ryker. They’re my friend’s kids. She had an emergency, and I was weirdly the only one available.”
Levi laughed. “Don’t you work?”
I shrugged and herded the kids through the entrance of the train museum. “I commission paintings. That gig is pretty flexible.” Levi looked impressed, so I didn’t mention that Lenny bought me a house a few years ago when her bar started doing so well. My paintings could easily pay the bills when the mortgage was covered. I’d vehemently protested, but she insisted that I’d done more than my fair share to help out at the bar, and it was the least she could do. She still kept some of my concoctions on her signature cocktail menu, claiming everything I created was a work of art.
Aunt Lenny had always spoiled me like she wanted to make up for what my mom did.
“Hey! You three!” I signaled Jo’s kids and stared into each pair of gray-blue eyes in front of me with a look that said, “Don’t cross me.” Once I could be sure I had their attention, I pointed to the sign right inside the museum entrance. “That sign says don’t touch anything. If I see your little hands on anything, we’re leaving.” Then I pointed to the exit. “If anyone tries to walk out that door without me, we’re done, and we will go back to my house and sit in silence until your mom comes to get you. Got it?”
Jo’s boys nodded. The oldest one smirked like he instinctively knew not to be afraid of me. Damn it. Little kids were messy, and big kids were sassy.
“Good. Go look at trains,” I snapped.
Levi chuckled as they scattered. “Wow. You have such a way with children. It’s like magic.” His words dripped with sarcasm.
I shot him a glare. “Are you any better?”
“No. I actually can’t stand kids. I figured that out two days ago. Cool, huh?” Levi looked way too happy about not liking kids. Self-discovery looked good on him, though.
“Is that because you grew up in a family with six children?” I asked as we walked. I kept my eyes glued to the three little blond heads that ping-ponged through the train museum.
“Maybe.” Levi shrugged. “Or maybe it’s because I’m selfish. My ex-wife liked to throw out that word to describe me when I mentioned my concerns about our religion.” He paused to look at a black steam engine from the 1800s. “Do you have any siblings?”
“Nope.” I kept walking. I could have told him I had no chance of siblings because my mom offed herself when I was only five months old, but I didn’t. Telling that to new people exhausted me. Their pity annoyed me, and their sympathy felt shallow.
“Do you like kids?” Levi asked as he leaned down to examine a tiny town filled with running model trains.