Page 8 of Best Laid Plans

That same tenacity and dedication followed me all throughout grade school and into high school. Don’t misunderstand me, I still went out and partied with the best of them, and I definitely had my fair share of dates and hookups, but I also knew when to rein it in and dial it down.

Served me well, too. Got me into my dream school on a full ride, where I studied business. Extra perk, my childhood best friend, Nate, got in there, too, and he’s every bit as driven as me. Since then we may have lost touch—thanks to him staying local and heading off to the police academy, where he learned to be a professional badass, and me shipping off to Europe to study under the bests in the culinary world—but that doesn’t mean I don’t have his back still, and Lord knows he has mine.

We pretty much lived at each other’s houses in high school, and we roomed together in college. We may not talk every day like we did growing up, but we still text sporadically and comment on social media shit. And I know when we eventually hit the bar, we’ll pick back up right where we left off, like we always do, distance and time be dammed.

My plan was always for me to end up back here in Bay Ridge, Alabama. Sounds insane, I’m sure. But like I said,goals. And I’m so damn close to achieving the grandest of them all that I can hardly stand it. Even though my parents have long since retired to Florida, all of my best childhood memories are here. Not to mention Nate and his family too—but I try not to think of his family too much. I love them, but thinking about them always leads me to think of his sister…his once annoying but blossomed overnight and now hot as fuck little sister. Thank God for social media for allowing me to creep.

Sure, there were some bumps and detours along the way, but fate is smiling down on me, and I’m fucking here and ready to take back what should have never left my family in the first place—Bayside Café.

7

Natalie

In the weekfollowing my date with Kevin, every time my phone rang, I’ve In the week following my non-date with Kevin-Phil, I’ve decided to call it quits. I’m hanging up my dating hat—and by that, I mean deleting my online profile. I waffled on the decision, but a girl can only stand so many bad dates.

But you know what? I’m okay with that. Truly, I am. Any of the potential suitors I might have met on there would have been nothing more than a stand-in for the only man who’s ever made my heart race.

For a while, I convinced myself that I didn’t want passion and belly flutters—I fooled myself into believing lukewarm was the way to go…but I know that isn’t true.

Deep down, if it isn’t red hot and consuming, I’m not interested. Though, I’m pretty sure that kind of love only comes around once in a lifetime, and if that’s the case, that’s just fine too, because I’ll always have my Tater Tot. Which is fine by me, because she’s all the best parts of him anyway.

“Mama!” I hear, followed by the sound of Tatum’s little feet stomping down the hall toward my room. “Mama! Wake up! It’s Us Day!” Tatum barrels into my room and up onto my bed where she burrows down under the covers next to me. “You up?”

“I’m up! Are you ready for our big day?” I ask, already knowing her answer.

On the third Saturday of every month, I’m off. Guaranteed, no matter what—and on that day, Tatum and I have a Us Day where we spend the entire day together, uninterrupted, doing whatever we damn well please.

“Wes have waffles?”

“We can absolutely have waffles. And maybe then we can go to the park.”

Tatum nods her head furiously. “And to lunch and for ice cream and for shopping and for—”

I gently dig the tips of my fingers into her ribs, tickling her. “Slow your roll, Tater Tot. Let’s tackle today one step at a time, okay?”

“Okay, Mama,” she replies through peals of laughter.

Tatum begs and pleads to help with the batter, and as usual when letting a three-year-old work in the kitchen, more ends up on the counter and the floor than in the waffle maker. All the same, we end up with four perfect, fluffy waffles that we top with whipped cream, strawberries, and sweet, sticky syrup.

I send my little girl to wash her hands and brush her teeth while I quickly clean up the kitchen. Once I’m finished, I lay out her clothes before quickly working through my morning routine of washing my face, brushing my teeth and tossing my hair up into a messy-mom-bun—I call it a mom bun because it soisn’tone of those cute buns you see girls on Instagram and Pinterest rocking—before throwing on a pair of drawstring linen shorts and a loose-fitting tank.

We exit our bedrooms simultaneously, only Tatum is not dressed in the outfit I laid out for her. Nope. Not by a long shot. My little girl is decked out in her frilliest dress-up dress, rain boots, and a tiara—with a smear of pink, glittery lipstick from cheek to cheek to finish her look.

“Don’t I wook like a pwincess, Mama?”

“You absolutely do.” I do my best to stifle my grin. I swear, this kid…she marches to the beat of her own bongo—because Lord knows, a drum would be too basic. “But do you really want to risk getting your royally beautiful outfit all dirty?”

Tatum taps her chin thoughtfully. “I guess not.” Her little shoulders slump.

“I’ll tell you what, you go change into the outfit I laid out for you. You can still wear your rain boots, and I’ll do your hair up all prettywithyour tiara. Bonus points if you wipe off the lipstick.”

“But Mama! It’ssooooopretty!”

“You’re right, it is very pretty. But I think I have a color that would match better, okay?” She nods and dashes back to her bedroom, and I do the same in hunt of my barely pink lip gloss.

We once again meet in the hall. “Dis better?” she asks, pouting slightly.

“Much better. C’mon and I’ll braid your hair.”

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