We’ve been moving, unpacking, and decorating for the past day and a half. The kids have been working hard, and even though I’ve had to yell at them a couple of times, all in all, they’ve been a huge help. With school starting back up tomorrow, I thought they deserved a nice dinner that doesn’t come from a bag or a cardboard box. And preferably one I didn’t have to cook since my kitchen counter looks like a frat house with all the different cartons of takeout we’ve been consuming while getting everything in order. Of course, Trevor wanted a burger, and Jenna isn’t a fan of red meat, so we settled on the shopping center where they can each grab what they want, and we can share a nice table outside.
“I want a Berry Blast from The Drink Shop.” Jenna pushes her food away.
“I’m gonna meet up with Kenny. He’s over at Fizzle.” Trevor stands, taking his trash with him. These kids can’t be alone with me for more than a couple of hours, especially when we’re out in public.
“All right. Only like another hour, Trev. I don’t want to be here all night, and we have school in the morning,” I yell after him before I pull a few dollars out of my purse and hand them over to Jenna.
“Thanks, Mom.” She gives me a kiss on the cheek and hurries off to The Drink Shop.
The somewhat silence is welcoming. I haven’t felt like I’ve been able to sit back and breathe for the past month and a half. My mind has been plagued with all my life choices, teetering back and forth on which is best and which isn’t. So far, the kids seem to be doing all right. I expect for them to have their setbacks, for them to be resentful, emotional, even angry. None of this is easy, and there have been plenty of times that I’ve felt like a selfish piece of trash that I’m putting my happiness before their own. What kind of parent does that?
Jenna pulls back the seat next to me and drops into it. She’s holding a large, colorful slushy-type drink. I guess frappes and lattes are the things of the past in the teen community. Now it’s all about overpriced, weirdly named, frozen drinks. Her straw is covered in a bright pink whipped cream.
“I’m so gonna deep throat this,” she says before wrapping her lips around the straw and taking it completely in her mouth.
As a mother, I should scold her for her comment, but my mind can’t help but flutter into the very distant future of where my daughter is going to make her man very happy. Clearing my throat, I try to act calm and not in a panic because my thirteen-year-old daughter is talking about sexual actions. “What exactly do you think deep throating means, honey?”
She pulls her lips from the straw, her mouth full of whipped cream. After she swallows, she shrugs. “I’m not quite sure, to be honest. I overheard a couple of girls at school talking about how her sister never really gags because she has a deep throat. I thought I was using it in the right context. You know taking the straw in my mouth–”
“I get what you’re saying, Jenna,” I cut her off. “You don’t need to repeat it.”
“Whatever.” She rolls her eyes in typical Jenna fashion. “I’m gonna go hang out with my friends,” she says as she bounces off.
Coughing comes from behind me. “Jesus,” he wheezes.
I don’t need to guess who that voice belongs to. Even only hearing it once, I know who it is, and that thought alone has me blushing. When I turn around, my fears materialize. Liam Prescott. I inwardly cringe. Of course, he heard my daughter’s comments, but I still pray to the good Man above that his choking is a coincidence.
Instinctively, I lean over and pat his back, it’s the mom thing to do. I almost want to tell him to put his hands above his head like I used to do with the kids, but think better of it. He’s an adult, for one, and for two, he flies a jet. I’m sure he knows how to calm himself down enough to ease the choking. He gasps between taking deep breaths.
“Are you all right?” I ask.
He takes a deep breath and coughs again. “Yeah, I think.” He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He adjusts his body, and my hand is no longer touching his back. Realizing that maybe I was touching him for a bit too long, I pull it back and put it in my lap.
“Is that what I have to look forward to?” He turns his head to look at me, and that’s when I notice that his beard isn’t anywhere near as long as it was two days ago.
“You cut it.” I point to his face.
He chuckles a bit, rubbing his hand over the short scruff of his face. “Yeah, I’m doing it slowly but surely.” His gaze flicks behind me, and when I turn around, I see that Jenna has walked off and is now hanging with a group of kids. “My youngest, she’s only four, and I didn’t want to shock her. I didn’t want to be Grizzly Adams one day and clean-cut dad the next. She’s already having a tough time adjusting to me.” He takes a deep breath. “They grow up fast, don’t they?”
“Yeah, they do,” I agree. “One minute you’re wiping snotty noses, and the next you’re watching them graduate high school and start off on life.”
“Or explaining the action of deep throating.”
I groan. “Don’t remind me.”
He chuckles. “Do you just have the two?” he asks.
“I have three. Charlie, my oldest, is enlisted and stationed in Germany.”
He nods. “I have three as well. Dillon is my eldest.” His mood seems to have changed. He’s more somber than he was. It makes me think that the subject of his kids is hard for him.
I watch as, who I’m assuming is Dillon, throws his head back, laughing at something another kid said. Jenna stands with another group, mostly girls, giggling and chatting as well. “To answer your earlier question, yes, you have that to look forward to. Abrasiveness, snootiness, sarcasm when it’s unwarranted. Those are just some of the things that make up a girl in her teens nowadays. And that’s today. There’s no telling how they’re going to evolve in the next nine years. You may not survive it.”
“You don’t paint a pretty picture, do you?”
I shrug. “Telling it like it is.”
“Maybe I should look into Catholic school or something.” We both look at each other, trying to keep a straight face, “Hell, we both know the Catholic girls are the worst.”