“I can see how that’s exciting,” I tell him haltingly. “But according to Coach’s flyer, even if your team sells the most raffle tickets, you’ll still have to pay for your own airfare and lodging once you get to Los Angeles.”
He shrugs nonchalantly. “Yeah, but how much can that be? Fifty dollars? A hundred? I can make that by doing odd jobs around the neighborhood.”
I look down at the sheet. “More like five hundred dollars. Look, I’m not trying to burst your bubble, but I don’t have that kind of money to pay for your ticket to California, and even if I did, that wouldn’t be enough because I’m not about to let you go without me.”
“Coach Dalton and his wife will be there. I’d be fine.”
He turns around to take his waffle out, when Ash announces, “You’d need two thousand dollars, Mom, because Colton and I would be going, too.”
“You’d stay with Grandpa Jack and Uncle Digger,” Wyatt snarls.
“No way! If you’re going to California, then so are we!” Colton joins the fray.
“No one’s going to California,” I tell them. “I’m sorry, Wyatt, but there’s just no way. Not this summer anyway.”
“That’s not fair, Mom,” he pouts, crossing his arms across his chest. He looks just like a tiny, furious version of Everett. Like a knife to my heart, he adds, “Just because you’re poor doesn’t mean we should have to be poor, too.”
All kinds of feelings rush through my nervous system. Anger at Everett for leaving us with no life insurance; anger at myself for not making enough to give my boys the extras; and finally, anger at the kids for not appreciating how hard I work to give them the things I do. I mean, seriously, the baseball uniform and shoes strapped my June budget enough.
Inhaling deeply, I hold my breath for a count of five before exhaling. When I’m slightly calmer, I tell the kids, “We may not be rich, but we’re not poor. We have clothes on our backs and shoes on our feet, and a roof over our heads.” Such as it is. “Just because I can’t afford to take off work and fly you all to California doesn’t mean you don’t have a good life.” Take that, you little rug rats.
Ash shrugs. “It’s cool with me. I’m not even sure where California is.”
“I’m good, too.” Colton nods while spooning batter onto the waffle iron.
“Well, I’mnotgood!” Wyatt shouts. “I’m going to raise as much money as I can and I’m going! I don’t care if I have to ask Uncle Digger for the money.”
I point my finger in his direction with sharp jabbing motions. “You will not ask Uncle Digger. He’s already giving us a water heater and is painting our kitchen, which, believe me, we need a lot more than we need a vacation.”
“Then I’ll ask Aunt Harper,” he threatens. “She’s got loads of money.”
I find myself longing to be a parent in the eighties who could spank freely. “You will do no such thing, young man, and if you go against my orders and ask anyway, I’ll ground you until you’re in high school.” His glare is so menacing, I add, “Don’t cross me, Wyatt. I told you how it’s going to be and that’s it. End of discussion.”
Instead of responding, he storms out of the house, making sure to slam the front door on his way out. I turn to the twins and demand, “Do you two have anything you want to fight with me about? Because, let me warn you, if you do, things will not go your way.”
I’m practically shaking with rage when Colton puts his spatula down and walks toward me. Throwing his arms around my waist, he says, “I love you, Mom. I know you’re doing the best you can.”
Ash joins in, holding on as tight as his brother. “I love you too, Mom.”
And just like that, I burst into tears again—this is becoming an alarming habit. My seven-year-old sons are comforting me. I’m proud and ashamed all at once. If Everett were still alive, he could have taken Wyatt and I could have stayed home with the twins. We would have had two incomes, so even if we’d had to scrimp a little, we could have done it.
“What would you think about us selling this house?” I ask them, wiping my eyes.
“Just so Wyatt could go to Los Angeles?” Colton asks, pulling away from me.
“That seems a little extreme, Mom,” Ash says.
“No, not so Wyatt can go to California.” At this point, even if I had the money, I wouldn’t let him go after that scene he just made. “I was thinking we could move into a smaller house that needs less work. It would free up time for us to do more fun things.”
“I like it here,” Ash says.
“Me, too,” Colton hurries to add.
Slumping back into my chair, I say, “Okay.” I’ll leave it for now. After all, Digger and Ethan will be here in a few minutes to paint. Maybe I just need to start seeing some improvements to start liking this house again.
A knock at the front door interrupts my thoughts. I hurry over to answer it, only to see Ethan standing on the other side of the screen. He’s wearing ripped jeans and a gray T-shirt, and he looks far too handsome for my own good. His boyish smile appears as I push the door open for him.
“Is this where the painting party is happening?”