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My feisty little blonde baby, she’s type-A personality. I’m type S. It stands for shitshow, I assure you.
Unbuckling my seat belt, I make my way out of the van to get her out. I know I have a button that will open the door, but I want to squish her cute face before I send her off to school. Look at her. Almost three feet tall and twenty-eight pounds of adorableness.
I lean down to her height and place my hands on her shoulders. Blonde springy curls blow lightly with the wind slapping my face. “I’m sorry Mama’s such a mess.”
I’m granted a smile. The same one she gives me when she realizes Mommy is struggling to get it together. Her hands meet my cheeks. “I love you, honey.”
She calls me honey. She heard Collin call me it once, and she kept saying it from then on. I love it. Adjusting her raincoat that’s way fancier than mine, I lift her up out of the van and squeeze her to my chest. “I hope you have the best day ever.”
Wiggling out of my grasp, she slides to the sidewalk and smooths out her bohemian dress. My daughter’s wardrobe looks something similar to a seventy-year-old gypsy lady, but I love her and her eccentric style. “I have to go. Don’t forget me.”
“Aunt Sadie is going to pick you up.”
There’s a split second where I see relief in her eyes. Yep. My twenty-one-year-old rock-star-loving sister is more reliable than me. Fact.
After watching my reason for existing saunter off into school, I try calling Collin, my husband.
I’m met with those highly obnoxious tones that tell you your call failed and the words “I’m sorry, your call cannot be completed as dialed.”
What the fuck?
I pull my phone back and stare at it. No bars. Okay, I don’t have a signal. Had the storm this morning knocked out a cell tower? For a minute, I sit inside the van and think about what we did before we had cell phones.
Crap. I don’t know. I can’t even think about what I do next. What do I do?
Coffee. I can do coffee, and that will make everything better.
ANNOYED AND RUNNINGon anger and the handful of Cheerios I stuffed in my mouth, I eye everything in the display case at the coffee shop, desperately wanting a cake pop for breakfast and knowing I shouldn’t. I gained thirty-five pounds when I had Tatum three years ago. I’ve been hanging on to fifteen of it, and I can tell you exactlywhyI can’t lose them even though I blame it on approaching thirty and having a mom bod. It’s because I eat like garbage. Dessert for breakfast, um, yes, please.
Overload of sugar in my coffee? Hell, yes, sister. Bring it.
And that, my friends, explains my mom bod.
After standing in line for a little over five minutes while the girl behind the counter flirts obsessively with the college men that seem to be infiltrating this particular Starbucks, it’s my turn. “I’ll take a bagel toasted with cream cheese, a venti cold brew with white mocha sauce, heavy cream and extra caramel drizzle on top.”
Diabetes, here I come.Yes, I’m well aware of the fact that this drink probably contains 900 grams of sugar and just as many carbs. But I order it anyway because it makes me feel better about life.
“Perfect.” The barista holds a clear plastic cup in her hand. “What’s your name?”
“Sydney.” I insert my card into the chip reader as she reaches for the bagel and hands it to a woman behind her.
Nothing is said between us until she half smiles. “I’m sorry, it says your card has been like, declined.”
Declined? My cheeks flush with embarrassment. “What?” I blink a few times, my eyes dropping to the card reader that clearly says declined. “Really?”
“Yes, do you have another form of payment?”
I look down at my wallet. No cash, only my credit card and a gift card to Nordstrom. “Not unless you take a Nordstrom gift card.”
She stares blankly at me. “Let me ask my manager.” And then she turns to the woman who handed her my toasted bagel I can literally smell now. “Do we take—”
I save her the embarrassment. “Honey, you don’t. I was joking.”
She smiles. “Right.” I don’t even remember where my debit card went to. Usually I buy everything on my credit card and Collin automatically pays it off each month. My husband’s a banker. Clearly we had money,right?
Cell phone not working. Credit card denied. I have my doubts now, don’t I? Of all the fucking shit I have to deal with today, this isn’t one I intended on. My credit card denied at Starbucks. Starbucks, people. A seven dollar and thirty-six cent order and my card couldn’t handle it.
To say I’m embarrassed wouldn’t do it justice. Do you notice the tense brow and creased forehead? I’m confused. With a heavy breath, I take one last longing look at my bagel and coffee now sitting on the counter. Literally calling my name in black Sharpie. “I’ll just… it’s okay. Cancel my order.”