The Player and the Single Mom

“Call a furnace guy.”

“I can’t. I have to open the bakery. And I can’t afford a furnace guy anyway. Especially not on New Year’s Day. This is an overtime day for the trades.” My credit card would groan in protest if I tried to weigh it down with yet another charge. “It will have to wait until tomorrow.”

“Do you need me to get the kids? I can at least do that.”

“Yes, thank you. They can’t be here all day. It’s way too cold.”

“How was the party last night? I was sorry we couldn’t go, but not as sorry as Chad. He pouted all night that he didn’t get to mingle with football players.”

“Poor Chad. Not to brag, but I did mingle with football players.” I also had rubbed myself all over one, but I was keeping that part to myself.

“I’ll be there in ten minutes. I need to wake up Chad so I don’t have to get the boys dressed.”

“Thanks, I love you.” I emerged from the basement to find Marigold wearing her winter coat over her pajamas. At least she was a problem solver.

The cold was getting to me now. I followed her example and yanked my coat off the hook by the back door. We didn’t have a mudroom. We had three feet of space that looked like someone had taken the Back-to-School section at Walmart and just thrown it all at the wall. Shoes, coats, backpacks, folders, sports equipment, hair ties, lunch boxes, water bottles, and art projects were piled high on hooks and an overburdened bench, all sagging toward the floor. One day there would be a back door slam that would start an avalanche that would bury me in school supplies.

I had tried to organize but the shoes in particular had fought back.

Helena had suggested I call the Nashville organizing gurus and I was pretty sure they would look at my house and admit defeat. Not to mention I didn’t think they’d be willing to accept the seven dollars in my savings account as payment for services.

“Get dressed. Aunt Helena is picking you up and taking you to her house where there is heat,” I told Marigold. Then I pounded on the bathroom door, which was still closed. “Out! Now! I need to get ready.”

Ava came out of her room. Her eyes widened when she saw me. “How was the party?” she asked with a grin.

“The party was lovely,” I said, determined to give nothing away. “Thank you for asking. How was your night?”

“Not as good as yours, clearly.”

Nice. “Get dressed. Our furnace decided it doesn’t want to work. Aunt Helena is picking you up.” I smacked the bathroom door again in frustration. “What the hell is your brother doing? Is he hurt in there? Do I need to break down the door?”

“Uh, I think he goes in there to look at boobs on his phone,” Ava said.

Oh God. I sighed, dropping my head back. My little boy looking at boobs. That hurt my heart. But he was almost thirteen. I needed to steel myself for the reality of what was to come. “He can do that in his room.” And so much for parental safeguards on phones. It was the damn Wild West out there on the internet.

Moments like this I really wished Johnny had a father.

And I had a partner.

Help would be really nice. That’s what I missed about my husband. Not necessarily John himself, because after he died I’d found out some things I would have preferred not knowing, but the ability to share fears and worries and cute stories about the kids with someone. Have a husband to help with things like furnaces not working and kids throwing up in the middle of the night.

I missed sex too, obviously, as was evidenced by my zero to ninety leap into Cash’s arms the night before.

But I also missed the intimacy of marriage. The right to touch someone without hesitation. The pets, the pats, the hugs, the kisses.

It was lonely being a single mom.

Even though my kids were the greatest gift I’d ever received and I would walk through fire for them, I missed having a man in my life. Adult conversation. Cuddling in bed after the kids were asleep. A nice dinner out. An R-rated movie.

That wasn’t going to change anytime soon either. Like I had told Cash, there really wasn’t time for a relationship to properly develop, not right now. Maybe in a year when I was done with school.

“Wait. How do you know what he does on his phone?” I asked, suddenly curious, as I went back into the kitchen and poured myself a cup of coffee. Opening the cupboard, I took down some ibuprofen and shook out two pills. I tossed them in my mouth and took a sip of coffee.

Ava herself had just pulled a stunt where she’d used my picture to create dating app accounts for me so I had reason to be concerned about what she might be doing with technology.

“I know his password. I’ve watched him do it over his shoulder. Sometimes I get bored and look at his history. Don’t worry, it’s not porn sites or anything. It’s just bikini models on Instagram.”

That was actually incredibly reassuring. I was grateful for the intel at the same time I felt I needed to correct her behavior.

“That’s a violation of his privacy. Only I’m allowed to do that. So I’ll need his password from you. Also, you need a hobby that doesn’t involve the internet or technology. I’m serious. Pick one hobby and you’re starting it as soon as possible. I don’t care what it is.” Or what bank I’d need to rob to pay for it. The girl was spending way too much time on devices.

“Can I go riding twice a week instead of once every couple of weeks? I like to do that.”

“At Cash’s?” I asked, biting my lip. Ava did love to ride. It was a good outlet, got her in the fresh air. Mucking out stalls was character building too, and loving an animal was always something I wanted to foster in a child, especially since I had shut down the idea of a dog for years because of time, money, and lack of space.

“Yes, because it’s free. You said we can’t go to the stables or take actual lessons.”

“I’ll have to ask Cash. Maybe he doesn’t want to commit his ranch manager to so much time teaching you.”

Speaking of Cash, I needed to tell him that I couldn’t go to Mexico. That I’d been impulsive and hadn’t thought through the logistics of the bakery, my class at the university, child care.

I typed a message asking him if the trip was refundable. I was halfway through “refundable'' when Ava’s friend Grace called out to me. “Mrs. Huxtaby?”

I didn’t finish or send the text and shoved my phone back in my pocket. “Yes, Grace?”

“The hallway carpet is all wet.”