Tossing the snacks into the diaper bag, I searched the refrigerator for something I could cram into my mouth. Only a few eggs and a questionable orange stared back from the bare refrigerator. I couldn't put off groceries any longer. On my way back from work today. You would think that someone with such an empty fridge would be thinner.
If only I was more determined and driven, we wouldn’t be in this mess. What have you done with your life? In the academic advisor’s office of community college, getting my nursing license seemed like a smart choice. I had limited time and a desperate need to support myself. If I hadn’t gotten pregnant, I could have taken the time to figure out my passions and skills. Perhaps I would have my bachelor’s or even my master’s by now. I surveyed the kitchen for anything else I was forgetting. Camille was doodling on the cabinets with a purple crayon. Where the fuck did she even get a crayon? She was nearly two, but she knew exactly how to find what she wanted.
We were so late, I didn't even have time to properly scold her. I swooped her up and grabbed the crayon from her chubby fingers. She began to wail. Avery's eyes shot open in surprise. Of course. Was it too much to ask to have my morning without a side of meltdown? My hopes of getting the girls to daycare without drama were shot to hell. I went over to the door to the garage and propped it open. After hoisting the diaper bag onto my shoulder, I grabbed Avery's car seat. Camille dragged her feet and whimpered. At least she wasn’t refusing to go. Avery's wails drowned out Camille's complaints. I hurried to the car. My breasts began to tingle and ache. Not now, I just friggin' pumped. I was blessed with my mother's breast milk productivity. My cup runneth all over the place.
Oh shit, the breast milk! There was no way I was going anywhere without my liquid gold. If I didn’t bring it to daycare, they would feed her formula and serve up a passive aggressive lecture later about the merits of my own moo juice. The last time it upset her stomach for days. Sometimes pumping was the only thing in my day I felt good about. I wasn’t going to give that up. Especially since formula mothers were the lowest rung on the daycare social ladders. Not that any of the other mothers speak to you anyway. But I really did not need another reason for them to judge me. Last time, I was told to “Slow down and relax”. It took all I had not to punch her in her well-meaning face.
The garage was chilly from the early morning air. Perhaps I should look into getting a new sweater. This was ratty, but shopping was out of the question. Our last move cleared out my savings. I had to make sure we had enough to be ready to go at a moment’s notice. After hoisting Camille and Avery into the car, I snapped and belted the car seat in place. Camille began to search the car floor, presumably for something to stick in her mouth. Yesterday, I caught her drooling all over a French Fry. It was stale enough to cut someone. The last time I had fries in the car was over a month ago. I think.
"Camille! Mommy needs you to sit like a big girl." She crawled over to her booster seat and sat down, waving her arms and legs. Small favors. That's all I need. I buckled Camille and Avery in and made a mad dash back to the refrigerator. Popping a few servings of breastmilk out of the freezer, I ran back into the garage and turned the lock. After it clicked, I climbed into the driver's seat and pressed the button to close the backdoor. With a slow grind, the doors began to close. Jamming my keys in the ignition, I turned the engine on. Camille continued to wail. Maybe I should feed her first. No, it's a five-minute drive. She'll have a bottle at daycare. You'll be late again. I’m a terrible mother. My phone pinged from the center console. I picked it up and swiped through the messages. Three texts from Kassie.
Bikers got another one. KTFO. TGIF.
Can you stay late today?
Boss is offering time and a half. I put your name down.
Karen was either the best friend I ever had, or my worst enemy. I was going to have to pay double for daycare again this month. This month alone, five men were beat up badly enough to wind up in the hospital. KTFO was our code word for someone that was beaten unconscious. Shorthand for knocked the fuck out. It might sound crass, but dealing with injured or sick bodies all day, we needed to distance ourselves from humanity. Otherwise, we wouldn’t be able to do our jobs. One thing was constant about my employment in hospitals across this country, nursing duties were pretty much the same. And the comradery amongst hospital staff was strong no matter where you were. It kept things at least quasi-normal while we moved around. We chose to move here because of the cheap housing and good hospital pay. I was hoping this would be our last move, but right after I moved here, something changed. A biker gang moved in right after, changing this small town to dangerous after dark. Lucky me.
Sometimes I feel cursed. Out of all the towns in this country, why here? And why does everyone sit back here and let these bikers run their lives? I’ve seen some of them around the hospital. They seem to run this town. And some of the nurses are even groupies. They seek them out. I’ve kept my head down, but I knew they were simply biding their time until they got heartbroken or worse. Watching from the outside, it was disorienting to see how these professional, educated women could get caught up with career criminals. Of course, none of them knew my secret. You were one of them. And not that long ago. There’s something to be said for bad boys. The thrill of the chase, danger, the rush of a push and pull power struggle was exciting and sexy. But excitement doesn’t clean up vomit or change shitty diapers in the middle of the night. And neither does sexy. My last priority these days was my libido. To think there was once a time where I wanted sex twice each day.
My engine whined as I turned the keys. It took a few tries, but the tired engine roared to life. An orange light on the dashboard caught my eye. Empty. Now I had no choice. There was no way I was going to have time to feed Avery and get gas. I pressed the button to open the garage door and began to slowly back out. Avery's cries continued to grate my nerves and heart. If someone told me four years ago that this was going to be my life, I would have thrown a drink in their face. And perhaps had sex with them in a bar bathroom. But definitely not believing a word. Camille began to whine again for good measure.
"Cookies! I want cookies!"
Avery began kicking her chubby feet in time with her sister’s cries. Luckily, she didn’t join in. Perhaps she thought it was a game. One of her socks was missing. Just another thing for daycare to judge me for.
Could today be any more of a disaster? Sweat pooled in my armpits and pricked against my lower back. Arriving at work on time without sweat stains is beyond my grasp. Sure, getting these two out the door was never a picnic, but I was doing the best I could. Why did it never feel good enough? Camille deserved cookies and a better breakfast than cereal, every day. And Avery deserved to be breastfed whenever she wanted. And they both deserved a father that wasn't crazy or that thought drinking during the day was a better use of his time than working and providing for his children. A father that wasn’t violent and didn’t spend his time running around with a biker gang scheming people out of their hard-earned money. A man that made the world a better place. Preferably a father that didn’t try to strangle his mother or knock out her teeth. I pushed my tongue against the front tooth I lost the last time I saw my ex-husband.