Ripped - Cassia Leo Page 0,24
make some homemade cards wishing their dad congratulations for being number one, but Mila started throwing a tantrum and had to be put down for a nap. Now she’s awake and fully refreshed, already arguing with her sister over what channel to watch on TV, and Adam isn’t going to be home for another four hours.
I dial Sarah’s number and she picks up on the second ring. “Hey, what are you up to?”
“Just about to turn on a movie for the kids so I can get dinner started. What’s going on?”
“You want some help?” I reply. “The girls are kind of restless waiting for their dad to come home. I think they need some play time.”
“Sure. Come on over. You can help me debone a chicken.”
“That sounds like a threat.”
She laughs. “See you in a few.”
Sarah has been my closest friend for about two years, since Mila and I attended Mommy and Me classes when she was a baby. I was always the type to have few close friends and many acquaintances. In college, Adam was my closest friend, until I fucked that up when I cheated on him with Nathan. Then Nathan became my best friend, until he died while surfing during a storm in California. Now Adam is my best friend again, and not having any siblings of my own, Sarah comes about as close to a sister as I imagine I could get.
I gather the girls into the SUV, their excitement bubbling over when they hear we’re going to Aunt Sarah’s house so they can play with nine-year-old Ginnie and four-year-old Caden.
Mila asks the most adorable question as I pull the car out of the driveway. “Is Daddy gonna play with Caden, too?”
“No, baby. Daddy will be home later. You and Kaia are going to play with Caden.”
“Daddy doesn’t like Caden?”
I try not to laugh at this response. “Daddy likes Caden, but Daddy won’t be home until later tonight. He’s coming home right before you go to sleep, so he’ll be there to give you a big hug and a kiss. Okay?”
“And a chicken? The chicken crossed the road to the side, and he… and he…”
“Duh. That’s not how it goes,” Kaia interjects.
“Kaia, don’t take that tone. Your sister’s still learning how to tell jokes.”
“I was just trying to correct her, gosh. I can’t wait till Dad gets home. You have too many hormones.”
“What?” I shriek. “Don’t talk to me like that, young lady. Where did you learn that?”
“That’s what Dad always says,” she grumbles. “Why is it okay for him to say it?”
I shake my head as I turn onto the main road. “Because he’s an adult and he knows what that means and you don’t. I don’t have too many hormones.” I take a deep breath as I stop at a red light. “When a woman is pregnant, her hormone levels change to accommodate the baby. It’s natural and it’s not something you use as an insult. Do you understand me?” I say, looking in the rearview mirror to see her face.
She rolls her eyes. “I don’t understand why adults get to say things that kids can’t. They’re just words. Daddy always says the F-word.”
“Fuck!” Mila cries out with glee, and if I weren’t already at a stoplight, I would have slammed on my brakes.
“Mila, no! You’re not allowed to say that word. You’re not watching any Belle the Builder for the rest of the week.”
“No, Mommy, nooooooo!” she squeals.
I grit my teeth as the symphony of Mila’s whining protest in the backseat grows louder by the second. I don’t know how I’m going to do this with four kids if Adam decides not to retire. I’m a terrible mother.
A hundred years ago, women like my great-grandmother had ten kids and most of them managed to survive well into their golden years. Nowadays, we need nannies, play groups, tutors, electronic babysitters. I’ve never hired a nanny for the girls, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t entertained the notion. Imagine that: a stay-at-home mother needing a nanny to take care of her two children who have no special needs. I’m a terrible mother.
On top of that, I’m not a very good wife. I know how difficult it will be for Adam to give up competing at a professional level. And if Kaia weren’t going to school in Wilmington now, we’d be traveling the world with him without complaint. But I really don’t think it’s wrong for me to want him home more than half of the