Page 16 of Moms of Mayhem
Trees dotted the sidewalk, draped in twinkle lights, and covered in snow. Most of the cars on the street were either Subarus or Jeeps, and almost all of them had a ski rack on the roof. Living in a town that was blanketed in snow from October to May wasn’t for the faint of heart, but there was nothing like the morning after a snowstorm.
The sun was shining bright in the sky, making everything glitter. The roads weren’t quite brown sludge yet, like they would be later today, and everything was just… quiet. My breath fogged in the morning air as I walked toward the Pilates studio, mentally mapping out my day.
A horn honked in the street to my right, and I jumped, losing my grip on the drink tray just as a woman and child turned the corner. Between one breath and the next, everything went flying.
“Oh no!” I yelled, scrambling to catch the drinks. Apparently, I was also moving slower this morning. I reached for the flying food, trying to save the woman and child from the carnage but was far too late.
Luckily, the hot drinks splattered on the ground, the flimsy paper cups bursting open and across our snow boots. But my iced coffee went right down the front of this poor woman’s chest.
“I’m so sorry,” the woman said, her baby crying in her arms. She bent to help me salvage the rest of the breakfast pastries.
“Girl, why are you apologizing? This was my fault.” I looked up from where I hovered in a squat, the crushed box in my hands, and frowned, trying to recall where I’d seen this woman before. “Do I know you?”
The woman’s hands stopped, two empty coffee cups in her hands, and met my inquisitive stare. Dark circles painted her under eyes blue, her dark blonde hair in a messy topknot that looked more utilitarian than intentional chic. The baby cried again, her little body squirming in her mom’s arms as their down jackets rubbed against each other, making the hold this mom had on her child impressive. It had been so long since Jace was that little, but immediately I was catapulted back in my mind to the days where I’d looked just as tired and worn down as this woman.
“I didn’t get her with the coffee?” I nodded at the little girl quickly escalating to a full tantrum.
“No,” the mom answered, looking over at her baby, then to me with a sheepish smile. “She’s teething, and just permanently mad.”
I grabbed the last of the trash, stacking the now-empty cups as best I could. “Man, I remember those days.”
“You’re a mom too?” she asked, looking around for a toddler trailing me.
“He’s a teenager now”—her eyes snapped back to my face, calculating my age like everyone did—“but he had colic. I’m well acquainted with a pissed-off baby.” I lifted the empty cups in a wave. “I’m Emmy. Are you new to town?”
“Oh.” The mom bounced her daughter on her hip until the little girl stuck her thumb in her mouth and rested her head on her mom’s shoulder. “I’m Stevie. And yeah, my husband took a job with a custom home builder up here this fall, so we’re still getting settled. Are you from Linwood?”
“Born and raised.” I grinned, then pointed to the hardware store across the street. “Hudson Hardware. I’m Emmy Hudson Meyer. Well, I guess just Emmy Hudson now, butthat’s a new development. My son Jace and I moved back here this summer after my divorce.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” Stevie shrugged, a tentative smile pulling up one side of her mouth. “Welcome back, I guess? Or are we not happy about this change?”
I chuckled. “It’s a good thing for both of us. I just need Jace to come to that conclusion too.”
The door to my Pilates studio opened and closed behind Stevie, attendees beginning to arrive for the next class.
“I need to head to the studio,” I said, waving what was left of the crumpled pastry box at the door. “But let me make up for drenching you in coffee with a free class.”
Stevie’s eyebrows hit her hairline, and she looked over her shoulder at the studio. When she turned back to me, I could see thenoin her eyes, but something about this woman made me want to make this work.
“I have a private lesson spot tomorrow night at five. Just you and me, so we can get you acquainted with it all. Unless you’re already familiar with reformer Pilates?”
“I’m not, and I can’t.” Stevie frowned, bouncing her daughter again. “My boys play hockey on Tuesday nights, and my husband is helping coach this season, so I don’t have anyone to watch Harper.”
“Bring her,” I said before I thought too hard about the words coming out of my mouth. My Pilates studio wasn’t exactly kid-friendly, but my mind was already working in overdrive to make this work. “We have a playpen in the back”—no, we didn’t, but I could get one—“and Shannon loves kids. I’m sure she’d love to watch Harper to give you a break.” That part was at least true.
“Oh.” She looked down at the little girl, now closing her eyes. “Well?—”
“No pressure.” I held my trash-laden hand out to stop what surely was another excuse. “Just show up if you want to try it. If not, no worries. I’ll leave a free pass at the front desk you can redeem whenever.”
“You really don’t have to,” Stevie said. “Accidents happen, and I’m used to being covered in random food thanks to three kids. But thank you.”
I nodded, my head bobbing all over my shoulders, knowing I was trying too hard but also unable to stop myself. “Have to and want to are two different things. This is me, wanting to. You’re new, I’m new-again. You’re a mom, I’m a mom. We both have hockey bo—” My eyes expanded, suddenly realizing why I recognized her. “Ah, shit. I honked at you in the parking lot as you were trying to load up the kids on Friday night, didn’t I?”
“I mean, they were taking forever, so I get it.”
I squeezed my eyes shut, wishing I had a free hand to rub my hand across my wrinkled brow. “No, that’s a total misunderstanding. My hand slipped and landed on the horn. It’s my brother’s car and way too responsive. That wasnotyou, and now I feel extra bad. Mommin’ is hard enough without anyone giving you shit when you’re just trying to do your best. Now youhaveto let me make it up to you.”
Stevie laughed, her gaze shifting to the coffee shop and back to me. “Really. It’s okay.”
