The Mrs. Degree (Accidentally in Love 2)

“Oh, college.” She nods in a way that would make you believe she understood, though she has no actual concept of what college is or how old a person is when they attend it. “That makes more sense.”

She hands Jack a few more french fries, and he eats them, watching him intently the entire time, happy for this new friend of ours.

Skipper chews on her hot dog, contentedly munching away. “Hey!” Her little hand presses itself to Jack’s hand. “Look. Your thumb looks the same like my thumb!”

Jack examines his hand before examining her tiny one. “Oh yeah, they do look the same. Two different sizes, would you look at that. Why do you suppose that is?”

Skipper tilts her head so she can properly think. “Hmm.” She thinks and chews. “I don’t know. Maybe ’cause we’re family.”

Jack’s head snaps up at me, brows shooting up into his hairline.

“In the car on the way here, I told her you were a good friend and that we were family,” I hasten to tell him. “I didn’t know how else to…”

Explain.

My daughter—correction: our daughter—gets up good and close to Jack’s face, ketchup on the side of her mouth, still chewing her lunch. So close it’s like she wants to share something or tell him a secret.

Total invasion of his personal space.

She squints into his eyes. “And don’t you think it’s funny we have the same name?” She giggles, most likely blowing hot dog breath into the poor man’s face.

Once again, Jack raises his eyebrows in my direction. “I do think it’s funny. Why do you think that is?”

“Well.” Her little butt lowers back into its seat. “Mom said we’re family, but do family people share nicknames?”

“That’s a good question.” He’s nodding. “My dad’s name was Jackson, and my name is Jackson, but I go by Jack.”

“I have a friend named Shelly, and her mom is Mrs. Stacy.” Skipper fiddles with her braid before scrunching up her cute little face. “That’s not the same.”

“They start with the same letter, though,” Jack praises her. “What grade are you in again?”

“First.”

“How are you liking first grade?”

Skipper shrugs. “It’s fine. We don’t have enough recess, and the boys stink.”

“Harper Halbrook!” I chastise. “The boys do not stink.”

“Yes, they do, Mom. On Monday, Bryce Hanson peed his pants, and he had to change into lost and found pants, and Roman stinks like peppermint.”

I share a glance with Jack, who can’t keep the grin off his face. “In that case, I would say Bryce was probably scared to tell the teacher he had to take a pis—he had to use the bathroom.”

“Were you going to say piss?” Skipper asks matter-of-factly. “My uncle says piss all the time.”

Oh jeez.

Jack is literally going to think I’m an unfit mother, teaching our child horrible manners, bad words, bad habits, bad—

“Yeah, I was about to say piss. Stopped myself just in time.”

Skipper bobs her head, empathizing. “Mom swears sometimes.” Chomp, chomp. “Especially when she’s driving.”

What the heck?

Why is she ratting me out like this, the little shit?

“Oh, does she?” Jack leans in, interested. “We call that road rage.”

Skipper nods. “She flipped off a grandma yesterday. A grandma in a minivan.”

I’m sorry, but that woman was going fifteen under the speed limit and probably shouldn’t have a driver’s license!

“Okay, you two, that’s enough.”

Okay, you two, that’s enough—words that a mom says. Words that I’ve dreamed about saying as a playful warning to a partner, words I dreamed about saying if I ever had more kids when they got up to mischief. “Okay, you guys…”

“What else does Mom do?” Jack asks Skipper to tease me, and it works.

I shoot him a “don’t you dare encourage her” look, but sadly, the child needs no further encouragement. She would sing like a canary and sell me out any ol’ day of the week!

“Mom eats brownies from the pan, but she yells at me if I do it.”

“What?” My mouth falls open. “I do not!”

I do.

“Yes, you do!” Skipper accuses me, pointing her little finger at me. “And you always make me put things on plates. You also tell me to recycle, but you threw a water bottle into the regular garbage yesterday.”

Monster!

Jack just laughs. “I love brownies from the pan, don’t you?”

Skipper nods enthusiastically. “Yes, if she lets me.”

“Fine.” I huff. “How about next time we make brownies, I’ll let you eat some fresh from the pan.” It’s only fair, I guess, since I do it when I think she’s not watching. The trouble is, the little turd always seems to be watching!

She nods. “Deal.”

“Do you have any pets?” Jack asks his daughter.

“No. Mom says we don’t have time for one.”

He nods. “Makes sense. They’re a lot of work. I have a dog, but right now, he’s probably sad because we’re not home. He is with a babysitter.”