A part of her wants to reach out to Gwen, ask her if she is all right. Her hand hovers over her cell phone. But what could she text? She begins typing.
Everything all right?
She deletes it. It implies that something might be wrong. It would reveal that she witnessed their fight. It might embarrass Gwen.It’s really none of my business, Aimee thinks. Some couples fight, don’t they? And she doesn’t want to appear smug, as if she and Scott were perfect.
If Gwen wanted her to know something, or if she needed support, she would reach out.
Wouldn’t she?
Benji appears, rubbing his eyes. “Didn’t you hear me calling? I want a glass of water.”
“Oh, sweetie.” She gets a glass down and fills it. “Let’s get you back to bed.” She walks him upstairs, past Scott, who is still on his call. After she resettles Benji, she gets herself ready for sleep.Tomorrow she will talk to Gwen, feel her out, make it clear that her friend can tell her anything.
They are more than neighbors.
More than mommy-friends who happen to have kids at the same school.
They are real friends. Found family.
Aimee awakens to the gleeful chaos that is Saturday morning in her house.
From below she can hear the twins racing through the house and yelling, not out of distress, but because they are seven and probably hopped up on maple syrup and orange juice. She loves it. As an only, her own childhood was quiet. Even more so after her mother died. Her father quickly remarried, and had three boys with her stepmother, Deb, but Aimee was away at college by then.
In the kitchen, she pours a big mug of coffee and clears off some of the Lego Ninjago figurines on the island.
“You excited for your day of rest and relaxation?” she asks Scott. “Tim is expecting me at eleven. We’re installing a row of blueberry bushes over at that house in Glen Echo.”
Scott flashes a smile. “I have bad news.”
“No, do not tell me.” She shakes her head and puts down the mug. “I’m not listening—”
He holds up his hand. “I have to go in to work.”
“Scott, no.” Her perfectly planned-out weekend schedule blown to bits. “You told me you’d be available today to watch the kids.”
“Can you reschedule?”
“I can’t. Those bushes need to get into the ground today.”
“But you don’t have to be there for that, do you? Tim can do that, right?”
Technically, he’s right. Tim Romero, her number two, can oversee any installation. She trusts him implicitly. But Aimee likes to be there. Issues come up. It’s her name on the company and on the side of her truck—Stern Landscaping. “That’s not the point. We had an arrangement.”
“Lisa or Gwen can watch the kids, right?”
“All three?”
“I don’t need to be watched,” Noa says, running into the kitchen. “I can go see the kittens.”
“Kittens?” Scott frowns.
“I told you, a client of mine. Has cats?”
“Right, right.” He nods, but Aimee can tell it doesn’t ring any bells. He’s been so preoccupied with work recently that not much she’s said has gotten through. She reminds herself that his work is about helping people with diabetes live better lives. His own mother died from complications of the disease his senior year in high school, and the success of this software launch is personal. “Seeing the kittens sounds like a great plan to me.”
“Yay!” Noa jumps up and down, convinced she has won.
“Right, but…”But it’s not a plan, Aimee thinks. It’s her scrambling to find childcare, leaning on her friends, her clients, while Scott has not offered any solutions. “I don’t love this. Having to call up people and ask them to watch my kids. Rearrange my day.”