Wrong Place, Right Time(42)

“I’m not going to stand for this.” I sound like a big justice-seeker, but both Frank and I know better. I’m no Green Lantern. I have all these threats I’m ready to deliver with gusto, but I know I don’t have it in me to follow through. I’m so screwed right now. I’m going to have to sell the house. Where will we go? Where will we live? May’s townhouse is way too small for all of us, and I’d rather be homeless than move to my mother’s place. I can see her for the occasional holiday, but living together would never work. Being with her for too long reminds me of how she kept us in that house with our jerk of a father when a better parent would have left and spared us all a lot of pain. I’ll probably never forgive her for that, especially now that I have children of my own. At least I learned one lesson from her: never stay in a relationship that will turn your children into victims.

He sighs. “Well, you could take it up with the investors if you want, but I wouldn’t recommend it.”

“Why not?” I can already picture myself busting into a conference room where they’re no doubt plotting how to hire people and get them to work twenty-four-hour shifts for free. I actually have a cape on in this vision.

“Because. We live in a small world down here. You form a reputation for getting angry at your employers and demanding big severance packages, and word will get around. Nobody’s going to want to hire you.”

He’s trying to scare me into shutting up. I swear I can see my skin turning green, and my pajama pants are getting tighter by the second. “I’m going to hang up the phone now before I say something I’m going to regret.”

“Okay. I get it. No hard feelings, Jen. I wish you the best of luck. When do you think you can come in and get your things?”

I grind my teeth for a couple seconds before answering. “Just put my stuff in a box, and I’ll come pick it up when my son isn’t sick anymore.” I slam the phone down on the counter, grab the hair on the sides of my head, squeeze, and scream.

I hear shuffling feet, and then my son appears from around the corner. “Mommy? Are you okay?”

I let my hair go and battle to keep the tears from popping out for my baby to see. “Actually . . . I feel like turning into the Incredible Hulk right now and smashing things up a little bit. But I’ll be fine in a couple minutes when I calm down.”

He smiles. “I like the Incre-bull Hulk. Ith your thkin gonna turn green?”

I get on my knees and hold my arms open wide. “Come give Mama a hug.”

He runs over and throws himself into my embrace. “Don’t worry, Mama. Itth gonna be okay.”

I pat him on the back, my heart soaring as I imagine him being a strong man someday, comforting a wife or child like he’s doing for me right now. At least I’m doing something right.

“I know, baby. I know. Don’t worry about your old mama. She won’t turn into the Hulk or bust anything up. She’s going to be okay.”

He pulls back to look at me earnestly. “It might be fun to butht thome thingth up, though.”

I laugh. “You’re probably right.” I hold him tighter and bury my face into his neck, inhaling for all I’m worth.

“That ticklth.” When he giggles, it sounds like a whole chorus of angels are delivering a healing song to my bruised heart. I take in a deep breath and let it out, hoping some of the negativity that Frank brought into my life is escaping with it.

I have no idea what I’m going to do now. Even just holding my shit together is a tall order. But I need to do that for my kids, even if I can’t do it for myself, because I’m a mom, and that’s what moms do.





CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Okay, so . . . Deep breaths, in and out. My skin isn’t green, my pajama pants still fit, and Sammy is installed on the couch with a cup of peppermint tea and a box of animal cracker cookies. Cookies for breakfast! Mom of the Year! Woo hoo! With the girls at school and Sammy happily watching Barney, I have a moment or two to figure out what I’m going to do with the rest of my life. No big deal. No pressure.

I feel like a sloth. I have no energy at all left in my body. I could lie down on the couch and slowly drop kernel after kernel of popcorn into my gaping mouth while staring off into space and be perfectly happy. Unfortunately, I don’t have that luxury. I have a mortgage to pay, three kids to feed, and an ex-husband who’s not really that great at making sure his support checks aren’t rubber.

Obviously, I need to find another job. The severance package, whatever it turns out to be, is not going to get me far. The economy shows signs of picking up, so I don’t think I’ll have a problem actually finding a job; the question is whether I’ll find one with a boss who will put up with the fact that sometimes one of my three kids will be sick, and that because I’m here alone, it’ll mean that I have to stay home with them.