So Much More(7)

“Okay. Well, thank you…for the housewarming mango…” I pause and lift my eyebrows and chin, silently requesting her name.

“Faith,” she says as she turns and walks to descend the stairs. There’s a bounce in her step that reminds me of Kira when she’s playing. It’s carefree. She glances back over her shoulder and waves. “Nice to meet you…”

When she pauses on my name I fill in the blank, “Seamus.”

“Nice to meet you, Seamus.” When she says it, it sounds like she means it. That it really was nice to meet me. Nice. Genuine nice is such a rarity.

“Nice to meet you, too, Faith.” I look down at the mango in my hand and repeat the next word only for me, “Nice.” It feels at odds with the bitterness; the bitterness resents even the fleeting consideration and stomps it into oblivion.

I shut the door and take the mango to the kitchen where Rory asks, “What’s that?”

I tuck it away in the refrigerator while I answer him, “Housewarming gift from the neighbor.”

“Looks like fruit,” he responds dryly.

“It is.”

He’s looking at me for further explanation while he crunches through his slice of toast.

“A mango,” I offer.

“That’s right weird.” Rory sounds so proper with the accent.

“It’s a bit odd, yeah,” and I quickly add, “but it was nice too,” because I don’t want my kids putting the weirdo label on the neighbor on day two.





Hope your day is as awesome as you are





present





“Kira, darlin’, you need to wear real clothes today. It’s your first day of kindergarten.”

She tilts her head to the right. She always does this when she’s contemplating a comeback. She negotiates everything. “I want to wear this.”

“It’s a nightgown, not acceptable for school.” I counter while making three bologna sandwiches for their lunches.

“It’s a dress,” she challenges sweetly, complete with batting eyelashes.

“Nice try. It’s a nightgown with a cat wearing a tiara on it that says I’m feline like a princess. Nope. Not wearing it to school.” It’s not that their school is strict on dress code, but I know a nightgown would earn me a call from the office as soon as she walked in the door.

She slips down from her chair at the kitchen table. It’s one fluid movement, sulking down out of the chair, rather than standing from it. She grabs Pickles the cat from the table and looks determined as she heads to her room. That determination will translate in the nightgown being replaced with something equally as obscure, I’m sure of it. Kira is agreeable but she has a rebellious streak. Problems are rectified quickly, but always with a twist. And always with a sweet smile I can’t say no to.

“You want some help picking something out?” I call after her. Getting her dressed is always a production. She takes forever.

“Nope. I’ve got this, Daddy.”

I put extra pickles on Kira’s sandwich, wrap them all in baggies, and put them in their insulated lunch sacks along with a banana and a juice box. And then I grab the pizza flyer that’s lying on top of a pile of junk mail on the counter, tear it into thirds and I write the following note on each of them, along with tons of hearts because it embarrasses the boys, and put them in their lunch sacks along with the food:





When I walk into the living room, Rory is sitting on the couch with his backpack in his lap. He’s fiddling with the straps, needlessly adjusting them. He’s always been fidgety. “It would be ace if they had a quidditch team at my new school.”

“Yes, it would. But alas, Montgomery Academy is not for wizards. Sorry, mate.” I play along because I can tell he’s nervous about the first day at his new school. He likes it when I call him mate, the little prideful smirk on his face every time I say it tells me so.

“You think there’s a chance I could be a wizard, though? Maybe I just haven’t discovered my powers yet?” he says with a straight, hopeful face.

“No such luck. You’re a Muggle. No powers. Except your sense of humor.” I wink and walk out of the room to check on Kira and Kai.

“I’d rather turn someone into a toad than make them laugh,” he yells as I walk down the hall.

“Ribbit,” I yell back.

He laughs. I love to hear that laugh. It’s hard earned, and I feel triumphant when I can coax it out of him.

Kira is standing in the kids’ bedroom wearing a pink skirt with yellow polka dots, a blue plaid shirt, lime green flip-flops, and a sparkly tiara. I’d likely be a bit disappointed if her outfit matched. “You look beautiful, princess. Your chariot awaits. Grab your backpack. We’re off.” I smile as I hang my hand low, palm exposed.

She giggles and picks up her backpack from the floor near the closet and high fives me as she walks through the door into the hallway.

I knock on the closed bathroom door. “You ready, Kai?”

He’s brushing his teeth when he answers the door, but gives me a thumbs up.





We’re all loaded up in the car by seven-thirty and on our way to the schools—two of them. Theirs and mine. Their school, Montgomery Academy, is the neighborhood charter school, kindergarten through eighth.