The Fix (The Carolina Connections, #1)(12)

“I know. I’m Laney Monroe. My son, Rocco, just started here a few weeks ago.” I gestured to my son who was—wait, what was he doing? He appeared to be cramming his entire body into his cubby. Shit. I quickly looked back to her, hoping she hadn’t noticed my kid being, well, weird. No such luck.

“I’m Bess Peterson,” she responded, a little less brightly than before, but she did extend her hand which I enthusiastically shook. Ugh. She did the limp-fish-partial-shake which made my very firm—and very normal—shake come off as trying way too hard. My left hand began its ascent to my cheek for a good rub but I stopped it, thank God, before things got even more awkward.

“It’s so nice to meet you, Bess. Listen, I know you probably have to run, but I wanted to invite Tucker over for a playdate this weekend with Rocco.” I glanced down at her son with a smile that was probably coming off as a little crazy at this point. But he wasn’t paying attention to me. He was busy with a finger up his nose while the other hand played with his crotch. See? Our kids have so much in common already!

“Oh, that’s really sweet of you to ask, but I think we’re all booked up this weekend,” she said, with what really did sound like genuine regret. All right, let’s not give up yet.

“Oh, I understand. Things can get a bit crazy trying to cram everything in after the work week.” I made some odd zinging sound—or maybe it was more of a whistle—either way, I was sounding like an absolute moron. I couldn’t have stopped my hands from coming to my cheeks if you’d paid me a gazillion dollars. Still, obviously not satisfied with my current level of humiliation, I continued, “How about next weekend?”

“Gee, I—” She stopped and shooed Tucker toward his cubby—on the opposite end of the wall from Rocco’s, mind you. “Have a good day, sweetie!” she called after him and then turned her smile back to me. “We usually seem to have lots of things scheduled on the weekends, but I’ll check our calendar and get back to you. Sorry, I really do have to run. It was nice meeting you.” And she was gone.

Note to self: arrange playdates via e-mail in the future.

Taking my own advice, I stopped in Mellie’s office on the way out the door to get a list of e-mail addresses for a few more moms. Armed with new candidates, I drove to work mentally drafting my incredibly charming e-mails I would send over my lunch hour to secure a friend for Rocco.



By the following Monday it was evident that the moms at daycare were all big fat bitches. Okay, maybe that was a bit harsh. It’s hard to accurately judge tone over e-mail, and I certainly hadn’t e-mailed every daycare mom, but still. What were all these kids doing on the weekends that they couldn’t squeeze in an hour or two to play? Was there some big Mensa convention I didn’t know about? More likely, there was a giant sale at the mall on child-sized penny loafers and actual polo ponies. Okay, that was a bit judgy.

By the time I got the fifth rejection e-mail the picture was becoming clearer. All these kids had been in school together since they were in diapers. They had their little established playgroup and apparently the membership roster was all filled up. It was like Heathers for the nose-picker set.

I supposed I could try to reach out to some of the parents from Rocco’s old school but that just seemed even more awkward. If he hadn’t played with their kids when he had seen them every day, why would they want their kids to come over to play now?

Grrr!

My internal rant was interrupted by the sudden appearance of Annette’s curly head over my cubicle wall. “I have the perfect guy for you,” she announced. “I’m setting you up and I will not take no for an answer.”

“Um, hello to you too.”

Annette continued without acknowledging me, “His name is Alex and he’s twenty-nine. He has a seven-year-old daughter—divorced—him, not his daughter. He just started at Dan’s work and he is really cute. I made Dan grill him about his personal life and he is, quote, ‘feeling like I’m ready to start dating again.’ It’s perfect, but I promised Dan I’d get your permission before giving him your number. Say yes.” She pushed her glasses up on her nose and put on an overly bright smile while nodding her head and trying to get me to follow suit.

I guess I could use a distraction. What the hell.

“Fine.”



Week two of Gavin’s job and he was still employed—woohoo! We had just finished an early dinner and I was determined to get Rocco in the bathtub tonight if it killed me. It had been a couple days—all right, five days, don’t judge me—since he’d bathed and he was getting ripe. In between showing Rocco mouthfuls of mashed potatoes at the dinner table, Gavin had shared a few details of his day.

In my mind it played out like a little show I called Gavin Goes to Work, such was my excitement about his new job. There was even a jaunty theme song—I understand, I need a hobby. My brother may be an idiot, but he was my idiot, and when it came down to it I just wanted him to be happy. It sounded like the job was going pretty well and his overall good mood boded really well.

I was just about to start the bath water when the doorbell chimed a painful warbling sound. One more item to add to the growing fixer-upper list.

“Gav!” I yelled to my brother. “Can you start Rocco’s bath for me?” I headed for the front door.