Holly Banks Full of Angst (Village of Primm, #1)(51)

“I like Pinkie Pie.” Ella smiled, a gap where her baby tooth once was.

Meanwhile, Holly’s outstretched hand was being ignored, so she dragged it like a limp fish across the counter and stuffed it into the front pocket of her jeans. What in the world was going on? Did they forge a friendship earlier in the day? They were talking about My Little Pony like they’d known each other their entire lives. Hey! Rosie might be the perfect person to help Ella transition into kindergarten—like having a family ally in the front office.

And that was when Holly heard Rosie say, “If your mommy forgets to pack you a lunch, I want you to come to the office to see me, okay, Ella? I don’t want to hear from Miss Bently that you went without eating.”

“Excuse me?” said Holly, trying not to throttle Rosie. “Mind if I interject?”

Rosie glanced at Holly, then returned to Ella. “I want Ella to know that I’m here for her. If she needs me.”

“My child is fine.” Holly took Ella’s hand from Rosie’s, guiding her gently but firmly toward the door. “My child doesn’t need you.” Freshwater Pearls.

Ella swung her gaze up at Holly, presumably to get a read of Holly’s facial expression. Ella looked as perplexed as Rosie did about the sudden turn of events—how a conversation about ponies that was going so well for them suddenly took a nosedive with Holly.

Holly focused on Rosie. “Are you suggesting I don’t feed my child?”

“No, not at all.”

“Because I forgot her lunch bag—it happens; I’m human. It was on the kitchen counter. Fully packed. And I feel really, really bad about leaving it behind.”

Rosie fell silent.

“But I’m not a bad mom. I’m not.” Holly spoke without confidence. Afraid her words could be disputed. “I had a bad morning. That’s all.”

“Yes, of course.” Rosie softened. “We all do.”

Although, there’s a real chance I might actually be a bad mom. Not everyone is a good mom. Holly was cynical. Suspicious of other women. She was clearly disorganized, kept a messy house, and couldn’t, for the life of her, finish unpacking a few stupid boxes. She didn’t bake pies—but she’d lied and said she did. The other night, when all the other mothers were more than happy to sign their names on the polka-dotted lines, when pushed—and only because Holly was pushed—the most she was willing to contribute was napkins. Napkins! She was selfish. And probably lazy. Holly assumed other mothers would do all the work.

As if reading her mind, Ella wrapped her arms around Holly’s waist and gave her a squeeze.

“I’m not a bad mom,” Holly said again, trying to convince a woman she hardly knew.

“No, of course not.” Rosie spoke softly. “There’s no such thing.”

Holly’s shoulders relaxed. “Thank you. Thank you for saying that.”

And Holly thought Rosie meant it, but couldn’t know for sure. Rosie’s eyes flitted briefly to Ella, whose face was buried against Holly’s leg. Was it possible that while Holly worried about being a bad mom, Rosie wished she were a mom? My heart breaks for women, for women like me and for women like Rosie.

Holly told Ella to say goodbye to Rosie. Ella did so, then left the school office to wait for Holly on the bench.

“I can check on Ella tomorrow,” Rosie offered, nodding toward the bank of security monitors behind her desk. “I’ll call you if I see Ella’s having trouble.”

“I’d like that, Rosie. Thank you.”

Rosie reached across the counter to offer her hand to Holly.

Holly gladly shook Rosie’s hand, two women now united in one cause: helping Ella navigate the yellow brick road into kindergarten.





17


Moments later



Holly and Ella left the school, skipping a bit down the cobblestone sidewalk toward the side parking lot where the rental car was parked. Holly felt happy. She and Ella made a friend, and they made that friend together. Which was a good thing, because they could both use a little welcoming to the Village of Primm right about now. The Topiary Park ran a succulent-of-the-month program, shipped from a private nursery at the edge of town. Maybe Holly should send Rosie a thank-you gift. Like a teacher appreciation gift but for the front office. The website said the succulents were shipped UPS and required a signature—maybe Rosie would enjoy a few months of succulent deliveries. On second thought, maybe Holly would too.

While Holly fumbled with the two keys, Ella pointed. “All of the windows are open, Mommy.”

“Oh, I know. I’m wondering which is the ignition key and which is the trunk key.” Since passing the Peloton enclave, she’d been driving with all the windows down. Truthfully, she might have been stalling a bit by fiddling around with the keys; it stank in there.

“Why are we driving this? Where’s our car?” Ella asked. “Oh, wait. I know.” Ella tipped her head and rested her hands on her hips like she was scolding Holly, but in a playful way. “You wrecked it.”

“You saw that, didn’t you?” Holly winced, hoping Ella was okay with things, hoping the portal to her childhood was still painted in bright colors—like the colors of the sky over the Topiary Park. Crayola’s parakeet blue.

Ella climbed in, and Holly helped her get buckled.