Holly Banks Full of Angst (Village of Primm, #1)(55)

F.U.!

Team Buttercream and the Pink Erasers face off in the summertime finals at this weekend’s F.U. Frisbee Tournament. Location: South Gazebo. Cherry Festival on The Lawn. Be there. And be sober. (Please.) We all remember what happened last time. NO ONE should feel it’s within her rights to get SO SMASHED playing F.U. that she feels the need to climb on top of the South Gazebo, dislodge her enclave flag from its bracket, and then wave it above the crowd, shouting—

Well.

You know what she shouted.

So no more tequila at the tournaments. Whenever a group of moms drink tequila—the F.U.s always get out of hand.





19


Later that night



Where’s Jack? He was supposed to be home by now.

Holly scanned the school supply list again. Four tennis balls? What would a kindergarten teacher possibly do with four tennis balls? The more she scanned the list, the worse her stomach felt. Was it anxiety? She almost felt nauseated. Holly opened the fridge to refill Ella’s sippy—sports cup. “You know what, Ella? You don’t need this cup anymore. Let’s throw it away.”

“No!”

“Okay, fine. We won’t throw it away. But let’s put it somewhere special and only take it out for special occasions.” Holly reached for a juice glass. “You’re a big girl now. You’re in kindergarten.”

Ella eyed Holly with suspicion but, for now, agreed to the new drinking arrangement.

“Tell me about the Leopard Print Little Kids, Little Zoo play in your classroom. Are you doing that this week? As a get-to-know-you activity?”

“Yup.” Ella took a sip from the juice glass.

“How exciting, Ella. That’s really great,” Holly said, genuinely upbeat. Not just because the flyer said her daughter had a part in a play but because Ella needed a teacher costume and that should be easy to pull together, considering they were only halfway unpacked.

Ella started in: “Little frog, on a log, who is next to me? Little duck, with a cluck, is quacking next to me. Little duck, with a cluck, who is next to me?” As she recited the lines, Ella slyly walked her juice glass out of the kitchen and into the family room.

“Get back here, Ella.” Holly lifted an eyebrow. “I didn’t give you permission.”

Ella slowly, carefully turned to carry the glass back to the kitchen table.

“Thank you.” Holly took the glass from Ella’s hands and placed it firmly on the kitchen table. “Say hello to Anna.”

Ella waved. “Hi, Anna!”

“Now go back and play.”

Holly figured she’d keep Anna inside the house for a while. Protect her from the bugs.

By the end of yet another episode of ponies, after the meatloaf cooled to room temperature, was covered with plastic wrap, and placed on the top shelf of the refrigerator, Jack walked through the door, tossing his keys on the kitchen counter. Struggle ran to his side in seconds flat, showing up for her daily dose of petting and good girls.

“Jack.” Holly, a tangled mess of school supply panic mixed with conflicted feelings about fast-food dining, gave her crayon to Ella to finish coloring. “Be right back.” She kissed Ella’s forehead, then left her in the family room with Happy the Dinosaur and her My Little Pony Pinkie Pie’s Adventure coloring book.

Should she say something about the Wendy’s number one single combo—no cheese, no onions—medium size with a Dr Pepper now? Or wait for later?

“Look at this school supply list. I’m freaking out.” Holly shoved the list at him. “The scissors I have for Ella are no good. I have to go out and buy a specific type of scissors. Five inch, blunt, Fiskar.” Holly stabbed the list with her index finger. “Specifically Fiskar.”

“Ahhh, yes.” Jack smiled, exuding an air of nostalgia. “The annual school supply list.” He scanned the list. “How was the first day of school? Where’s Ella?” He squinted his eyes, held the supply list at arm’s length.

“Jack.” Why was he late? He was wearing gym clothes. “I thought you were at work. You were at the gym? You told me you were coming home early. I’ve got a function at Ella’s school tonight.”

“Oh, that. Sorry. I had to work out.” He said it so . . . flip. Like . . . Big deal. You’ve got nothing better to do. Me, on the other hand, I’m Jack. I get to come and go as I please.

“You’re not sorry.” Holly took the list from his hand. “Don’t say you’re sorry if you’re not sorry. You said you’d be home early.” She leaned in. “You smell like cologne. Did you take a shower?”

“Hmm?” said Jack. “Oh, sure. After my workout.”

“You never shower at the gym.” Holly touched the sleeve of his shirt. “And your clothes aren’t sweaty.”

“Holly, stop.” Jack was annoyed. “What are you saying?”

Ella dropped her crayon and ran with Pinkie Pie—comb still lodged in Pinkie Pie’s hot-pink mane. “D-aaaaaaa-ddddd-yyyyyy!”

He swooped Ella into his arms, then folded her into a great big bear hug as Struggle struggled to suppress her instinct to bark.

Struggle hated it when anyone picked up, hugged, or play wrestled with Ella. Whining while taking sidelong glances at Holly, Struggle pleaded telepathically with her to make it stop: You have to help, Holly. You’re her mother. Holly knew Struggle knew they weren’t going to hurt Ella, but her protective canine instincts were quite strong where Ella was concerned. Having an absolute fit, Struggle jumped about, trying not to rescue Ella by biting Jack in the @ss.