Page 33 of The Best Bad Decision

nineteen

Amie

Ipull a cardfrom my wallet and tap it against the reader, only realising after the third payment attempt that it’s a Starbucks gift card and not my bank card. God, I haven’t been this fried since Maisy was a newborn. The baby brain was like nothing I’d ever known—but my baby is three going on thirteen now, so I can’t really use her as an excuse anymore.

The only excuse I have today is jet lag. It hasn’t hit me this hard for a long time, but when I try and fail repeatedly to shove the card back in its slot in my wallet, I sigh and press the heel of my hand to my eyes.

You never truly get used to being jet lagged. You just learn to manage it. You learn to adjust your routine as you go, sleeping when you’re tired and eating when you’re hungry—just like being a baby again. You learn not to make any plans on landing day, because by the time you get home after a fourteen hour flight, you’re just about ready to drop where you stand.

You learn that sometimes, your little girl will have to entertain herself, watch an extra hour of TV, stay with a babysitter for a little longer so you can recover enough to take care of her again. You come to accept that you’ll miss out not just on the time when you’re away, but the time you spend sleeping at home, too.

I drive home on autopilot. Maisy is at the zoo with Paloma today, so when I stumble through the door, I yank my laundry from my suitcase, toss it in the machine and head immediately for a shower. I do the absolute minimum to rinse the aircraft off my skin, wrap myself in a fluffy robe and fall into bed without even drying my hair.

By the time I wake up, it’s early evening; darkness has swallowed the afternoon and I can hear Paloma and Maisy having a Disney Princess dance party in the living room. I think I hear Ruth’s voice, too. I slip out of my robe and into some leggings and an oversized grey sweatshirt with TEXAS emblazoned across the chest, scrub away the fuzzy feeling from my teeth with two squeezes of toothpaste, and pad down the stairs. I got home shortly before nine this morning, so I’ve slept for almost ten hours. I feel like I could easily sleep for another twelve, but my arms ache to hold my daughter—even just for a few minutes before bedtime.

I peer around the living room door, careful not to make any noise. Maisy is standing on the sofa, both hands in Ruth’s, dancing with wiggling hips and swinging arms. She spots me before Paloma or Ruth do, and the dance party comes to an abrupt end when she leaps off the sofa and screeches “Mama!I missed you!”

I drop to my knees and open my arms, sweeping my daughter into a tight embrace as she reaches me. Eyes closed, squeezed tight against tears, I exhale tension and breathe in the comfort of her little girl smell: strawberry shampoo, vanilla cupcakes, and Paloma’s magnolia perfume. I bury my face in her hair and hold her close, savouring the way she wraps her arms around my head and threads her little hands into my bed-ruffled curls.

“You did lots of sleep, Mama,” she says, patting my hair softly. “Aunty Roo, what that word?”

“Jet lagged, sweet thing,” Ruth says. She’s tidying crayons and dinosaurs whilst Paloma clears away the remnants of their macaroni cheese dinner.

“Are you jellagged, Mama?”

A small laugh bursts through my smile and I press a kiss to Maisy’s forehead.

“I am a bit,” I tell her. “But I’ll be okay.”

Standing up, I scoop her into my arms and settle her on my hip. She rests her head against mine and yawns.

“It’s nearly bedtime for you, Maisy Mouse,” I say. “Daddy will be calling soon. Why don’t you go and pick out some pyjamas and I’ll be up in a minute?”

I set her on her feet and she thunders up the stairs to her bedroom. Paloma and Ruth are waiting for me at the door.

“Thanks, guys,” I say, hugging them both in turn. “I’m so sorry, I never meant to sleep so long. I must’ve slept right through my alarm.”

“Don’t apologise,” Paloma insists, pulling us all into a group hug. “You obviously needed it, and you know I love getting to spend the day with my Mae-Mae.”

“Still,” I say, guiltily. “You shouldn’t have had to have her all day. You should have woken me.”

“Stop apologising!” Roo exclaims. “We love her, and we love you, and we take care of each other. You needed us and we were here. And we’d do it again in a heartbeat.”

Tears prick at my eyes and I tighten my embrace.

“I love you girls,” I say into Ruth’s hair. “You’re the best.”

“We know,” Paloma says cheekily. “Now go, put Maisy to bed and get ready for Daddy Cam. Love you, A.”

Paloma opens the door and shoos Ruth out, before following and closing it with a click behind her. I turn the key in the lock and drag my weary body up the stairs and into Maisy’s room, where Maisy is sat on the edge of her bed, swinging her feet, with a pair of yellow bumble bee pyjamas slung across her lap.

“Buzzy bees?” I ask, and she nods happily. She’s just crawling under the covers when my phone rings, and I immediately switch the video call to my tablet to give Maisy a better look at Cam.

“How’s my two favourite girls?” I hear Cam ask as I lower the blind and draw the curtains. Then I slide into bed with Maisy, hugging her close.Two favourite girls.Despite the bone-deep exhaustion, a little spark flickers low in my belly, unfurling and spreading warmth from my core throughout all four limbs.

“Mama is—um—jellagged,” Maisy announces, looking very pleased with herself for remembering the word.

“She’s jet lagged, huh?” Cam replies. “That’s no fun.”

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