Page 18 of Enough
He yawns and holds his head up with his hand. “I don’t want to do any more. I’m tired.”
“I’m tired too, Kale, but we need to finish. It’s the last one. This is what happens when you wait until the last minute to do your homework. Now, remember what we just did in the last problem? It’s very similar. Now, are they asking for area or perimeter?”
“I don’t know,” he mumbles. I glance at him, and he’s focused on how long he can make his retractable pencil lead extend.
“Kale, math! Pay attention.”
“I’m tired!”
“It’s perimeter. See, they want the distance around the rectangle.”
“You’re not teaching him anything by doing his work for him.”
I turn to see Mike standing behind me with crossed arms.
“You’re rewarding him for waiting by doing his homework for him.”
“No, I’m not. I’m explaining it.”
“From where I stand and what I heard, you’re just telling him the answers.”
“Well, if you thought you could teach him better, you should have been down here helping instead of watching videos on your phone.”
“I’ve been working, Everly. I took a five-minute break.” He turns and makes his way to the stairs. He says it under his breath, but I still hear it. “You’re such a bitch.”
“What did you just say?” I shout.
“You heard me. Everyone would be a lot happier around here if we didn’t have to listen to your whining and complaining all the time.”
The anger and frustration takes over. As I stomp to the stairs, I yell, “Who do you think you are, you selfish ass? You do nothing around here to help and you criticize me? Do you think the lawn cuts itself? Do you think the food cooks itself and the dishes jump happily into the water? How do you think your shirts get cleaned and ironed? Magic?”
“Oh, here we go again. Poor Everly, your life is so hard!” he whines in supposed mock of how I sound and adds a pouted lower lip.
“Mom?” Kale asks. “Can I go to bed now?”
I turn on my heel back to Kale. I’m not sure if I want to cry or hit something. I’m tired of Mike, of laundry, of attitudes, and especially of math homework. “It’s forty. The length is twelve plusw, and since the width is four, that makes the length sixteen. Add all four sides together and you get forty. Okay?”
Mike continues up the stairs making sure to add, “Nice. Yeah, you’re really teaching him. Good job, Everly.”
Kale writes down the answer and yawns. “Get to bed,” I tell him. “I’ll clean this up and pack up your stuff for tomorrow.”
“Thanks, Mom,” he says earnestly. “I’m sorry for being so crabby and waiting so long.”
“It’s okay, baby. Just go brush your teeth. It’s late. It won’t kill you to skip a shower one day.”
I put his book and homework into his backpack and pull out the bread and lunchmeat to make lunches.
A few minutes later, I hear, “Mom, are you coming to tuck me in?”
I tread up the stairs and into his room. He climbs into bed and I pull the covers up over him, kissing his head. “I love you, Kale.”
“Can you ask Dad to come say goodnight?” he pleads.
I nod my head and turn out his side lamp as I leave his room. I dread having to talk to Mike. He’s brushing his teeth in the bathroom. “Kale wants you to say goodnight.”
I turn to go and hear him ask, “Did he take a shower already?”
“No, he’s too tired. One day won’t hurt him.”
