The next morning I get the kids to school and come back to the house to get myself magnificent looking. I have a week old hair cut, which is perfect. My color is about two weeks old and looking perfect. My dress and shoes are perfection, and look fabulous with my fresh-from-Memorial-Day tan and the gorgeous necklace Scott gave me for Christmas.
I have an hour or so before I have to leave and I attend to a matter that is blowing up at work. I did something stupid. I walked right into the open, waiting, gaping trap of a colleague who bated me and giggled evilly as she informed my boss of our exchange. I will recover, because I have a very real and reasonable support for what I'd done but still he's pissed. Mostly because I am smarter than that. I should never have given her the upper hand.
Worse, being on the defensive makes me feel less confident about dealing with Mom. Like I need that.
I talk to Scott on the way to Charlotte's. He is so calm and so confident in me. I wish I could be. He is my strength. And I really need some. I tell him I'm nervous. He puts me back in control. I love him for this.
I put some fun music on my iPod and sing all the way to Charlotte's house. On the last half mile, I think I see Gray driving in the opposite direction with Griffin.
No! There goes my strength in numbers!
And then I think logically. Gray is the graduate. I am sure he's already at school. Griffin is a flag bearer. Chances are, he's on his way, too.
From the light, I text Charlotte that I am moments away. She texts back that she is drying her hair.
My numbers are dwindling.
I get to their driveway and am panting. My mouth is dry.
But I park and take a deep breath. I grab my fabulous Kenneth Cole bag, potentially as a weapon, and walk toward the front door. As I walk up the front walk I can see someone in the kitchen standing alone.
OMG. It's Mom.
And it's too late to turn around and just go to the school.
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