win that battle. When does anyone ever win with six-year-
olds?
Tildy used to go to daycare during the day in the
summer, but since her parents are getting divorced and they’ve
had to seriously hash out the finances in some really unhappy
sorts of ways, they can’t afford the place anymore. Which
means that family has to help out. It’s just me and Mandy.
Dad’s still working, but Mom is retired. She’s going to watch
Tildy after this for the rest of the summer on and off between
John’s parents taking turns and maybe his brother, although I
doubt that very much, but she and Dad are on vacation in
Europe until next Tuesday. So that left me.
Normally, I wouldn’t mind. Tildy is a great kid and I
love her to death. I don’t mind today. I keep telling myself
that. I should be thankful. At least I still have a job and Tildy
is healthy and here for me to love. Mandy and John are going
to be much better off apart. When they’re apart, they seem
much more decent to each other. Everything is going to be
fine.
I’m not going to lose this job.
I burn those words into my brain as I reach the coffee
shop door. I get a load of my reflection before I rush in. Red
face. Dark hair pulled from my bun and stuck damply all over
my forehead and temples. Wild dark eyes. Blouse untucked.
“I want a latte!” Tildy announces loudly enough for the
entire coffee shop to hear. “With caramel and whipped
cream!”
I groan inwardly as about six heads lift up and six
faces, both male and female, young and old, judge me on my
parenting skills. Or lack thereof. I can’t very well inform the