Page 4 of Cluelessly Yours

Me: You do realize you’re pregnant and happily engaged, right? Seems like maybe you should focus on your fiancé’s nuts instead of Noah’s, you little squirrel.

Brooke: Like Chase would get mad that I’m noticing the male form. Pfft. Just yesterday, he told me what a great job I did of describing my new character’s penis. Plus, I’m not gawking for me. I’m doing this for YOU.

Chase is her fiancé and baby daddy—aka my soon-to-be brother-in-law—and her editor at Longstrand Publishing.

And he’s completely obsessed with her. Though, I guess you’d have to be to live with a personandwork in the worlds they create in their books. His whole life is Brooke Baker, and in all the time I’ve known him, I’ve never heard him complain.

Chase Dawson would one hundred percent understand the ogling of Dr. Noah and, if given the opportunity, would probably help her position her chair to get a better view if she requested it.

Another text from a different sender pops onto the screen, and I close out of Brooke’s cockamamie imaginings to find a message from the one person I actually couldn’t live without. And believe me, it’s no man.

It’s Zoe Bannon. My nanny.

Zoe: I had to keep Grant home from school. He threw up right before we left the apartment. But don’t worry, he’s just running a low-grade fever now and the only casualty is my shoes.

Son of a bitch.

Running late to my eldest son’s Career Day event while my youngest son is at home puking on my nanny? You’d think this would take the cake for chaotic in my life, but sadly, it’s just another day in the life of Sammy Baker.

I groan out loud as I hurriedly type out a response—while I continue to speed walk toward the auditorium doors that are now in sight.

Me: Oh my God. I’m so sorry, Zoe! He didn’t show any signs this morning that he was feeling bad.

Zoe: It’s okay, really. Have no fear, I’m good at getting vomit out of shoes.

Me: Ugh. I can’t believe he’s sick again. Kindergarten is going to kick him out at this rate. And seriously, I’m so, SO sorry.

With my attention still on my phone, the front of my shoe snags against an uneven tile on the floor, and I barrel through the auditorium doors with all the grace of a herd of antelope falling off a cliff.

The sounds of a song from theFrozensoundtrack fill the air—yes, I recognize it—and I’m sent immediately into embracing my Anna era.

I am awkward. I am sometimes desperate. I am hopeful and brave.

Though, if I’m completely honest, I’m still convincing myself of the last two.

Thankfully, aside from three snickering girls in the back row, no one appears to notice my falling faux pas. I even manage to hold on to my phone instead of sending it careening down the aisle.

Am I…better than everyone?Ha.Kidding.

I glance down at the screen to double-check that I haven’t cracked it with my newfound superhero abilities, and instead, find that the digital clock showcases a whole seven minutes after the time I was supposed to be here.

Thankfully, chatter is ever present among the kiddos that fill the Calhoun Elementary auditorium, and by all indications, the presentations have yet to start. Brooke and Noah are already up on the stage, poised in folding chairs while they chat with my eldest son Seth’s teacher and the organizer of this event, Ms. Katy Dayton. I make a beeline straight for them.

My phone buzzes with another reply from Zoe, but I trust that she has Grant handled for now and focus on the present.

Brooke spots me as I approach, just as Ms. Dayton runs down the stairslocated on the opposite side of the stage. We make eye contact briefly from across the room, and I nod hello to the woman I’ve had enough parent-teacher meetings with this year to be on a first-name basis.

Ms. Dayton offers a smile, but her attention is on something behind me as she moves on quick feet toward the back of the auditorium.

I don’t waste any time jogging up the stairs located stage right and head for my heavily pregnant sister. My eyes survey the roundness of her belly under her maxi dress as I close the distance between us. She’s completely adorable and about seven months along, but for a woman as clumsy as her, she might as well be a year into this pregnancy.

The big ball of fur curled up at her feet—otherwise known as her German shepherd Benji—is dressed up like Batman and has a vest on his back that’s labeled with “Service Dog” and “Do not pet me, please.” Unlike me, he really is a superhero.

“Do you have the goods?” Brooke asks immediately, not bothering with the pleasantries of a greeting.

“Yes, I have your chicken parm. Vinny went in early just to make it for you so I could fulfill my end of the bribe.”

“I’d say I’m sorry for Vinny’s and your trouble, but I’m not sorry. Signing someone up to speak to a room full of elementary kids without checking with them first has consequences,” Brooke says with a shrug.

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