LJ Idol Season 9, Week 0: Introductions (Welcome to my 5 person household...)
She sits, legs crossed and netbook propped precariously in her lap, and she sighs, closing her eyes for a moment. Her brain is moving a mile a minute, trying to piece together the story in her head while also trying to coax the words to write themselves.
It isn’t working.
It isn't working, because her active four and a half year old is pushing his art desk against the wall, climbing on top of it, and tapping the television screen. She frowns and puts her netbook aside. "Bob, get down, please."
Tap tap tap.
"Robert," she says, putting more power behind her tired voice. "No touching the TV, please."
No response.
Growling, she gets up from the couch. Her body aches, the top of her left foot especially thanks to her recent ankle injury. She picks up her son and places him gently on the floor. "Robert, no. No more art desk, okay, buddy? You know better."
She braces herself for the potential melt-down as she picks up the red and blue toy and moves it into another room. When no such melt-down occurs, she breathes a quiet sigh of relief. Then her brother walks into the dining room, takes one look at her, and raises an eyebrow.
"What time's Evelyn supposed to be home?" he asks.
"Not until six, probably." Her voice sounds so exhausted and frustrated, she winces at the sound of it.
"You work tonight?"
She nods. "At midnight."
"Give me an hour and I'll take over with Bob for you, alright?"
She nods again, not even bothering to hide the tears of gratitude. "Thanks, Nick."
***
She glares at the boxes stacked on top of boxes, thrusting her fingers into gloves that are damn near worthless. The light inside the freezer is just enough for her to see what she’s doing. Ten minutes. Ten minutes, then she has to start on the stacks of boxes waiting for her in the cooler.
Fifteen minutes later, she’s breathing heavy and can no longer feel her nose and ears, but the freezer order is put away. Roughly thirty pieces, once it was all said and done.
Another one hundred and fifty to go.
And less than two hours to do it in.
She steps out of the freezer/cooler and pulls her cooler jacket off her shoulders. She rings up the regular who happens to be patiently waiting at the register, chats him up a little, and tries to avoid the truck driver’s eye as she slips away. Freezer -- done -- cooler, back room, floor. She repeats the order in her head.
She tries not to think that she has to finish bagging snacks, doing signage, and getting ready for coffee rush in those same two hours. Instead, she grits her teeth and repeats one thing over and over in her head:
Do it for Bob.
***
Are you awake?
The text lights up her phone. She snatches it off her desk, which doubles as her nightstand, and frowns. It’s four in the morning -- of course she’s awake. Third shift has totally destroyed her sleep schedule, making her wake up at odd hours on her days off. Sighing, she glances at the name above the text -- The Asshole -- before sending a text back confirming her supposed alertness.
Can you come downstairs and get Bob, please?
She groans, glancing at her netbook, which she once again has resting on her crossed legs. She had just gotten into the groove of things, the words were flowing, her music playing. And now she has to stop?
You sure he isn’t gonna go back to sleep? she sends back, and bites her lip as she pushes her netbook out of her lap and begins gathering her son’s clothes for the day. It doesn’t matter what her ex’s response is, she’ll go downstairs, anyway. She’ll try to put their son back to sleep, and then maybe she can go back to writing.
When she slips into her ex’s room, her son immediately sits up on the bed and crawls over to her. She carries him, settles him onto his own bed, whispers good night, and leaves his room, only to stand just outside his bedroom door. Moments later, he opens it and grabs her hand, dragging her back into his room, just like she knew he would.
She repeats the routine over and over until he pulls her over to the rocking chair, climbs into her lap, and once again settles in her arms. An hour has passed, she can tell he’s tired, and she knows he has to get up for school in a couple of hours.
As she rocks him, his eyes eventually drift closed, and minutes later, she places him on his bed and slips a blanket over him.
She wishes Evelyn would just try to put him back in his room when he woke up in the middle of the night, just this once.
***
She sits on the edge of the couch, and her roommate sits next to her. He has a cup in his hand, filled with honey nut cheerios, and he’s watching Bob just as she is, commenting on his behavior, his lack of speech, his progress.
“Say please!” Bob cries, waving his hand towards his cup. Her roommate doesn’t hesitate, letting Bob take a few pieces of his cereal before eating some of it himself.
“So Nick ate all of my damn donuts,” she says to him in an undertone, scoffing to herself. Bob turns to her, a wide grin on his face.
“Donuts! Donuts?” Bob repeats, and she immediately realizes her mistake.
“I’m sorry, buddy, but Uncle Nick ate all the donuts. They’re all gone,” she says quickly, trying to catch Bob’s attention. It’s too late, she can tell. His eyes have gotten big, and the frown on his face can only mean tears are imminent. “All gone,” she repeats, knowing that this is a concept her son understands -- even if he won’t like it.
“Hey, Bob. Look! Tiny donuts,” her roommate says, offering more of his cheerios.
Bob's face lights up, and he takes the cheerio, pinching it between his fingers. "Tiny donut!" he says, grinning.
She relaxes as Bob continues to munch on the cereal, a smile spreading across her face. She turns to her roommate, who's trying to stifle a laugh. "Oh, man, I can't believe that worked! You owe me."
She just leans her head against his shoulder, grateful that the mini-crisis had been avoided, for now. "I guess..." she says, her smile softening. "Thanks, Joe."
As he slides an arm around her shoulders, she ignores the way her heart skips a beat. "You're welcome, Alicia," he whispers, kissing her cheek.
She almost wishes she had married him instead of Evelyn.
Almost.
It isn’t working.
It isn't working, because her active four and a half year old is pushing his art desk against the wall, climbing on top of it, and tapping the television screen. She frowns and puts her netbook aside. "Bob, get down, please."
Tap tap tap.
"Robert," she says, putting more power behind her tired voice. "No touching the TV, please."
No response.
Growling, she gets up from the couch. Her body aches, the top of her left foot especially thanks to her recent ankle injury. She picks up her son and places him gently on the floor. "Robert, no. No more art desk, okay, buddy? You know better."
She braces herself for the potential melt-down as she picks up the red and blue toy and moves it into another room. When no such melt-down occurs, she breathes a quiet sigh of relief. Then her brother walks into the dining room, takes one look at her, and raises an eyebrow.
"What time's Evelyn supposed to be home?" he asks.
"Not until six, probably." Her voice sounds so exhausted and frustrated, she winces at the sound of it.
"You work tonight?"
She nods. "At midnight."
"Give me an hour and I'll take over with Bob for you, alright?"
She nods again, not even bothering to hide the tears of gratitude. "Thanks, Nick."
***
She glares at the boxes stacked on top of boxes, thrusting her fingers into gloves that are damn near worthless. The light inside the freezer is just enough for her to see what she’s doing. Ten minutes. Ten minutes, then she has to start on the stacks of boxes waiting for her in the cooler.
Fifteen minutes later, she’s breathing heavy and can no longer feel her nose and ears, but the freezer order is put away. Roughly thirty pieces, once it was all said and done.
Another one hundred and fifty to go.
And less than two hours to do it in.
She steps out of the freezer/cooler and pulls her cooler jacket off her shoulders. She rings up the regular who happens to be patiently waiting at the register, chats him up a little, and tries to avoid the truck driver’s eye as she slips away. Freezer -- done -- cooler, back room, floor. She repeats the order in her head.
She tries not to think that she has to finish bagging snacks, doing signage, and getting ready for coffee rush in those same two hours. Instead, she grits her teeth and repeats one thing over and over in her head:
Do it for Bob.
***
Are you awake?
The text lights up her phone. She snatches it off her desk, which doubles as her nightstand, and frowns. It’s four in the morning -- of course she’s awake. Third shift has totally destroyed her sleep schedule, making her wake up at odd hours on her days off. Sighing, she glances at the name above the text -- The Asshole -- before sending a text back confirming her supposed alertness.
Can you come downstairs and get Bob, please?
She groans, glancing at her netbook, which she once again has resting on her crossed legs. She had just gotten into the groove of things, the words were flowing, her music playing. And now she has to stop?
You sure he isn’t gonna go back to sleep? she sends back, and bites her lip as she pushes her netbook out of her lap and begins gathering her son’s clothes for the day. It doesn’t matter what her ex’s response is, she’ll go downstairs, anyway. She’ll try to put their son back to sleep, and then maybe she can go back to writing.
When she slips into her ex’s room, her son immediately sits up on the bed and crawls over to her. She carries him, settles him onto his own bed, whispers good night, and leaves his room, only to stand just outside his bedroom door. Moments later, he opens it and grabs her hand, dragging her back into his room, just like she knew he would.
She repeats the routine over and over until he pulls her over to the rocking chair, climbs into her lap, and once again settles in her arms. An hour has passed, she can tell he’s tired, and she knows he has to get up for school in a couple of hours.
As she rocks him, his eyes eventually drift closed, and minutes later, she places him on his bed and slips a blanket over him.
She wishes Evelyn would just try to put him back in his room when he woke up in the middle of the night, just this once.
***
She sits on the edge of the couch, and her roommate sits next to her. He has a cup in his hand, filled with honey nut cheerios, and he’s watching Bob just as she is, commenting on his behavior, his lack of speech, his progress.
“Say please!” Bob cries, waving his hand towards his cup. Her roommate doesn’t hesitate, letting Bob take a few pieces of his cereal before eating some of it himself.
“So Nick ate all of my damn donuts,” she says to him in an undertone, scoffing to herself. Bob turns to her, a wide grin on his face.
“Donuts! Donuts?” Bob repeats, and she immediately realizes her mistake.
“I’m sorry, buddy, but Uncle Nick ate all the donuts. They’re all gone,” she says quickly, trying to catch Bob’s attention. It’s too late, she can tell. His eyes have gotten big, and the frown on his face can only mean tears are imminent. “All gone,” she repeats, knowing that this is a concept her son understands -- even if he won’t like it.
“Hey, Bob. Look! Tiny donuts,” her roommate says, offering more of his cheerios.
Bob's face lights up, and he takes the cheerio, pinching it between his fingers. "Tiny donut!" he says, grinning.
She relaxes as Bob continues to munch on the cereal, a smile spreading across her face. She turns to her roommate, who's trying to stifle a laugh. "Oh, man, I can't believe that worked! You owe me."
She just leans her head against his shoulder, grateful that the mini-crisis had been avoided, for now. "I guess..." she says, her smile softening. "Thanks, Joe."
As he slides an arm around her shoulders, she ignores the way her heart skips a beat. "You're welcome, Alicia," he whispers, kissing her cheek.
She almost wishes she had married him instead of Evelyn.
Almost.