Meet Me Halfway(20)
Her mouth hung open, like she was genuinely shocked I’d cut her off and would leave. “Yes. Please do.”
I was fuming, practically foaming at the mouth when I re-entered the main office. Jamie jumped off his seat, eyes wide and white knuckling his bag. I didn’t acknowledge the secretary as I stormed out. I couldn’t. I was ten seconds away from exploding.
Jogging to keep up with my pace, Jamie didn’t say a word as he buckled into his seat, but I could feel his eyes on me. I ripped off my heels, throwing them on the passenger seat and watching them bounce off onto the floorboard. I curled my hands around the steering wheel in an iron grip, blinking rapidly and trying to clear my vision enough to get us home.
“Mom? Are you mad at me?”
Awesome. Superb parenting, Madison. Meet with your child’s principal and then leave pissed and not say a word to him. That won’t give him the wrong idea at all.
My head dropped forward to rest my forehead against the wheel. The burn in my eyes finally easing as the tears won the battle and slid down my cheeks.
“No, bud. I’m not mad at you.” I applauded myself on how smooth the words came out even while my soul was splintering on the inside.
“Am I in trouble?”
Leaning back, I futilely swiped at my eyes and forced myself to put the Jeep into reverse and leave Satan’s playground. “Your teacher is frustrated with your lack of interest in class. She said you’re ignoring lessons and reading books. I agree with her that the behavior is disrespectful. You know better. But no, you’re not in trouble as long as you promise to stop.”
“Then why are you sad?”
His question made me feel even worse, guilt surpassing anger. Parenting was fucking hard. Hell, adulting, in general, was hard. My mama had warned me, but she hadn’t warned me enough.
“I’m not sad, I’m angry.” And humiliated. Vulnerable. Exposed. “But it has nothing to do with you. I’m sorry for worrying you.”
I took a deep breath, mentally bitch slapping myself to get my shit together. All it was doing was clogging my nose and upsetting my child. And Lord knows I wouldn’t make any tips tonight if I showed up with a puffy face.
I called the restaurant as soon as we pulled up to the house, letting them know I’d had to go into the school and would be late. Then I climbed out, circling the vehicle to open my passenger door and find the heels I’d thrown.
I’d just leaned down when my skin tingled, the hairs on the back of my neck standing at attention. I twisted my neck and glanced over my shoulder to see Garrett standing in the middle of his yard with a push mower.
His eyes, which had been on my ass, snapped up to my face. I frowned at him, straightening and tucking the heels under my arm before shutting the door.
His gaze zeroed in on my face and lingered. He worked his jaw back and forth, narrowing his eyes slightly before they finally dropped to the child stepping up next to me. Jamie stared back at him, a defiant look on his face, and I watched Garrett’s eyebrow arch before he turned away, effectively dismissing us. Fine by me.
I ushered Jamie into the house, hearing the rumbling of the mower start up as I closed the door.
“What the hell happened?” Layla barreled toward me like a bull that’d spotted a red flag.
I cleared my throat pointedly, flicking my eyes to Jamie and back. “Nothing. We’ll talk later, but I need to go.” Dropping my purse on the bar, I ran toward my room, throwing off my clothes and yanking on my uniform. Five minutes later, I had on the barest of makeup and was running back out, shoes and apron in hand.
“Thanks again for hanging out with him. Try not to destroy the house, you two.”
Layla hadn’t moved a muscle. She was looking all over my face with squinted eyes while I shoved my feet into my shoes. Crossing her arms over her chest, she said, “I make no promises.”
I gave Jamie a loud, smacking kiss on the cheek which he instantly rubbed off. “Behave, love you.”
“Love you too.”
Locking my spine, I walked out, prepared for another stare-off with Garrett, but both he and the mower were nowhere in sight.
Chapter Six
An hour into my shift, and I’d already added a new stain to the shins of my pants. I groaned, tempted to stamp my feet. Solid black and snug in all the right places, they were my most comfortable pair of work pants. Go figure.
I wiped my hands on my t-shirt, uncaring if I got it dirty, and started grabbing plates of wings, smelling them and stacking them in order along my arm. I’d been working at the restaurant long enough, I could tell the flavor of each wing sauce by smell alone. It made my job a whole lot easier since the cooks had a habit of not labeling them anyway.
Turning, I bumped the swinging door open with my hip, dashing out to each meal’s designated recipient, smiling and re-filling drinks before heading back into the kitchen to do it all again.
Overall, I didn’t mind waitressing. It wasn’t always easy, but the tasks themselves were fairly straightforward and it kept me busy. The only slow time I ever had was at the beginning of my shift during the grace period before the dinner rush.
Which was why my boss hadn’t batted an eye at my late arrival. He was younger than I was and high as a kite most days, so he was pretty laidback. It bugged me more about being late than it had him.