Page 5 of Cash

“If I could bottle even some of your energy…” I murmured with a rueful grin as I poured him a bowl of cereal and milk, topped with banana slices.

He was still too young to cringe away when I kissed the top of his head and ruffled his golden hair. It wouldn’t be much longer, though. I didn’t have to be his biological mother to dread that phase like I’d dread a root canal.

Fresh, hot coffee went the rest of the way toward giving me the strength to get the day started. At least it was Friday. That never used to matter—I’d work through the week, regardless of which day it was. Interesting how eight months of having no choice but to take the weekend off or shell out cash for an all-day babysitter had realigned my priorities. I didn’t like the idea of leaving him with a stranger, either. He needed structure, habits, security.

“You have all your homework papers in your folder, right?” I asked as I sat with my own cereal.

“Yup. Put ‘em in last night.” His attention was on the TV, visible from the kitchen table thanks to the apartment’s open layout.

“Hey, buddy.” I tapped his arm. “You’re talking to me, you’re looking at me. Remember? I’m not the TV.”

He turned my way. “Sorry.”

When he looked glum like that, I couldn’t be stern. He was a good kid. He genuinely hated when he did something to make me sound sharp with him.

“It’s okay. And your folder is in your backpack?”

“Hmm. That’s a good question.”

I bit back a smile at his serious tone of voice and listened as he launched into a story about one of his friends and how his parents were getting him an iPhone for his birthday. A five-year-old getting an iPhone? Was I hopelessly out-of-touch, or was that way too young?

Tommy didn’t sound envious. He was only telling me a story. But the day would come when he’d want one, too, just like he’d stop letting me kiss the top of his head. The thought made my pulse race sickeningly fast. I had no idea what to do when that time came. He got up and put his bowl in the sink, then promised to double check that he had his homework folder packed while I drowned in self-doubt.

Think of it as a project at the lab. How would I approach something scientifically? Easy: I’d keep in mind the potential outcomes but wouldn’t react unless and until one of them came up. If I worried, I’d take my concentration off the work I was doing, and that would only heighten the probability of making a mistake. What would be a mistake with Tommy? Easy. Missing out on the happy, mundane present moments because I was preoccupied with the future.

I shook off my doubts and forced myself into the present, where Tommy was karate kicking along with his cartoon. “Easy, buddy. Try not to break anything while I’m getting ready.” Toddler-proofing was one thing. How did a person who’d lived alone for years suddenly childproof their apartment for a five-year-old boy?

I took a quick shower and dressed in my typical uniform: black pants, a black turtleneck, leopard-print flats. My shoes were my one little bit of personality in an otherwise boring wardrobe.

“How come you always wear the same clothes?”

I jumped when I heard Tommy’s question from the doorway as I was putting on a little makeup, then closed my eyes with a sigh. He went from galloping around the place to tiptoeing as silent as a ghost.

“They’re not the same clothes. Not really. Lots of different things, but mostly gray and black.”

“But how come?”

I eyed him up in the mirror. “Because not everybody can pull off a sweatshirt with a Minecraft character on the front,” I said, and he chuckled and looked down at the shirt he’d chosen for that day. “You know why I wear the same sort of things all the time? Because it’s one less thing to think about in the morning. I don’t have to plan what I’ll wear, since almost everything goes with everything else. A shirt, a pair of pants, and I’m good to go. I can spend time thinking about important things, instead.”

“Hmm.” He nodded slowly, like he was mulling it over.

The thing was, I knew he wasn’t pretending. He was the most thoughtful, analytical child I had ever come into contact with. Maybe it was genetic—from me, not Chrissie. She was the artistic one.

His eyes lit up. “I think I’ll start doing that, too.”

“Yeah?” I turned to him, leaning against the sink with my arms folded. “You think you could give up all those cool shirts you have?”

He shrugged. “They’re just shirts.”

“Okay. We can go shopping this weekend, if you want.” I barely hid my smile as I turned back to the mirror. He never ceased to make me laugh.

* * *

“Any big plans this weekend?”I closed my eyes and prayed for strength before glancing over my shoulder with a smile. I needed to stop making coffee in the lab cafeteria. It saved cash, but it didn’t save my patience.

“The usual. Whatever the kid needs,” I replied to Ryan as he sidled up next to me.

“That’s what you say every Friday,” he grinned.

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