We’re in the car and on our way in less than fifteen minutes. In my haste, I grabbed the first thing I could find, my clothes from yesterday. Glancing down, I notice a white stain on my navy t-shirt that looks a lot like snot. Great, I’m going with the not showered in days look.

In the rearview mirror, I catch Miles happily stuffing his face with powdery, sugared donuts, raspberry filling smeared across his cheek. As much as I’m guilty of his lack of nutrition, his joy makes it all right.

By the time we reach the rec center, the cold meds are working, and I’m feeling somewhat human, despite how I look, or perhaps it’s the coffee. Either way, I’m functioning.

“We did it, little man! We’ve got just enough time to get you dressed.”

“Mommy, that’s because we’re so fast. Faster than Superman!”

He claps and giggles before running ahead with his hands outstretched in front of him like the Man of Steel flying through the air. His enthusiasm is contagious, and I laugh at my sweet boy, the morning’s disaster forgotten.

We luck out and get a family changing room where he undresses, and I delve into the swim bag for his trunks. My anxiety ratchets up a notch with each item I remove from the bag. Dammit, his swim trunks aren’t here.

“Shhh...” The expletive flirts with my tongue, but I catch myself.

He looks on, eyes growing wider at the idea of me breaking our cardinal rule: no swearing. We have a three-quarter full mason jar with one dollar bills from every one of my moments of profanity.

“Sugar, honey, and iced tea!”

“Mommy, what’s wrong?”

Standing in only his underwear, he furrows his brow and places his fists on his hips, knowing Mom strikes again. How am I going to tell him I screwed up? That he’s not going to pass because of my epic fail?

“Um, your swim trunks aren’t in here.”

They are hanging in the laundry room where I left them to dry last weekend. Water pools in his eyes and his lips quiver.

“Nooooo! How could you?”

His condemning tone is a punch to the stomach. Why can’t I catch a break? How hard is it for me to get one thing right? I can’t bear the look on his face because I fucked up again. Sadly, I do it a lot. It’s not intentional. It’s hard being a parent, let alone a single mom without his father or my family for support. Every day I give him my best, but try as I might, shit happens.

I quickly reassure both of us that it will be okay before leaving him in the changing room to find his instructor. I’ll fix this if it’s the last thing I do.

The hot, damp, chlorinated air of the pool deck hits me like a wet blanket. The humidity will do wonders for my hair. Not. I always leave this place looking like a woman from the wild, my hair frizzing at least an inch or two on the sides.

“Hi, Alex.” Miles’s swim instructor glances from his clipboard and smiles at me.

I run my fingers through my already frizzing, long, brown hair, and my stomach flip flops like a teenager with a crush. Miles’s teacher is hot. But, my smile quickly dips into a frown as I realize I must look like one hot mess.

“Hey, Cait, good to see you. Where’s Miles?”

His chiseled face, day old stubble, and hair are wet, as is the rest of him. Alex is an athlete and has the defined body to show for it. His weekends filled with swimming lessons, and during the week, he assists with training Olympic hopefuls. Compared to his endless physical activity, I’m a sloth.

His blond locks, which are short on the sides and longer on the top, are slicked back from his handsome face. His red swim trunks show off his defined six foot two build.

“About that.” I awkwardly wring my hands and inch closer. “I, ah, I forgot Miles’s swim trunks, so he can’t swim today.”

His eyes glitter with what I think is disbelief and something else. Amusement? He smiles before tilting his head back and emits a full-on laugh. I like his deep, throaty laughter. It stirs a warmth in my chest.

Fine, it is funny, especially considering my track record. But right now, I’m finding none of it comical.

“That’s almost as bad as my dog ate my homework.” He chuckles, now biting his lush bottom lip to stifle his snickers at my expense.

“It’s not a lie. I washed his trunks and left them to dry at home.” My tone’s more defensive than I intend, angry with myself more than anything else.

“Hey, sorry, I didn’t mean anything by it.” He rests his hand on my shoulder and gently squeezes. “Would you believe that I’ve got a brand-new pair that he can have?”

“What?” I examine his blue eyes, searching for the joke hidden in the depths, but sincerity is all I see.

“Yeah.” He removes his hand and heads to a bag in the corner. “I’ve got a few sizes for this very reason. You’re not the first to forget.”

He hands me the bag with half a dozen pair of boy swim trunks and I rummage through, looking for my son’s size.

“Alex, thank you so much.” I give him the bag. “How much do I owe you?”

“Nothing.”

“No, seriously, how much? You’re not paying for my screw up.”

“Cait, they didn’t cost me anything. They’re swag from my sponsors. Instead of stuff I don’t need, I ask for kids and teen swimwear.”

Now it’s my turn to laugh as I think of how weird that sounds. I’d be all over swag for me, but I get it. Alex is a good guy, and this is totally something he would do.

“All right, thanks again. You’ve saved me from Miles’s wrath.”

“No problem. We’ll be in the water in under a minute. Hurry up.” He chuckles and turns to another parent waiting to speak with him.