Total pages in book: 35
Estimated words: 33209 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 166(@200wpm)___ 133(@250wpm)___ 111(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 33209 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 166(@200wpm)___ 133(@250wpm)___ 111(@300wpm)
“I am.”
Finally, I let my eyes open and prayed I could keep the pain from a pounding headache off my face. Slowly, I got out of bed. Then I waved my fingers around like I was a spooky ghost. “We must get rid of the hunger monster fast.”
She giggled before fleeing my room. I winced but wouldn’t let my choices from the night before take away from my daughter’s happiness. I sucked in a deep breath and jogged out of my room. Our place wasn’t large and there weren’t any good hiding places. I made a show of clomping about. “I’m going to get you,” I growled in my best playful but fearsome voice.
Zoe dove for the couch. I caught and tickled her until we were both bursting with laughter. Then it was time to do the mom thing and fix my darling daughter breakfast.
It felt like a pancake day. After two ibuprofens, I cooked, and we ate. When we were through, I turned on the radio on the counter—because the internet was expensive—and said, “Dance party.”
Zoe’s eyes lit up before we broke into our favorite routine. It didn’t matter what was playing, we moved in sync with one another like we were performing onstage. I pointed at her, and she did her solo. My girl was a natural entertainer. Then she pointed at me, and I did my thing. I, however, didn’t have her skill. Good thing no one could see us, or I’d become a meme. Dancing isn’t for everyone. We danced until we were both out of gas and collapsed on the sofa.
“Can we watch TV?” Zoe asked.
“Sure thing, kiddo.”
I couldn’t afford cable, internet, and a cell phone. I had my cell. I used my phone to cast her favorite show to the TV using the Roku I got on sale last year. Then I closed my eyes.
“Mom,” Zoe said, shaking my arm. “It’s over.”
“Oh, sorry. Do you want to go to the park?”
Saturdays were Zoe days. It was my one guaranteed day off.
“Sure. Can I ask you a question?” she asked.
“Always.”
She held up a finger and then ran to her room. When she came back, she handed me an envelope. “Mary Sue invited me to her birthday party. Can I go?”
I opened up the card and read the invitation to Mary Sue’s seventh birthday party. Zoe’s hopeful eyes shattered me. The problem was she didn’t know I was broke. Unlike my mom, I didn’t want her to know. Zoe didn’t ask for a lot. She didn’t need a lesson in excess. She certainly didn’t need a lesson on poverty.
Because I was “the teen mom,” as the other moms saw it, Zoe didn’t have many friends. She hadn’t been invited to a birthday party until today. Even though buying a gift for another child would stretch my budget to the limits, I couldn’t say no.
“Yes, kiddo. You can go.”
She stood on her toes and cheered.
“How about we watch a movie? We’ll go to the park after lunch.”
“A princess one?” she asked.
“Your wish is my command.” I cued up a movie. “I’ll be right back,” I told her and headed to my room.
After making the commitment about the party, I had an urgent need to figure out my finances. I was saving money to get Zoe dance lessons I hadn’t been able to pay for and a princess costume with a crown that wasn’t made of plastic. I’d been a coupon-cutting weekly saver. I was desperate to make this the best Christmas for my daughter that I could.
As I reached for my purse, I silently cursed the Bowmens. I’d read somewhere that Mitchell was a big-time sports agent making millions a year, yet he hadn’t once taken an interest in his daughter. Because of a stupid mistake only a kid would make, I couldn’t ask him for a penny more than the twenty-five hundred his father had given me all those years before after signing an agreement.
I opened my purse and frantically dumped the contents out on my bed. I pushed around the contents as if it would change a thing. My wallet wasn’t there. My paycheck and tips from yesterday were all inside it. If I couldn’t find it, not only would I risk not being able to pay rent next month, all my plans for Christmas would be toast.
If not for Zoe calling me back into the living room to watch her favorite part of the movie, I would have cried. Instead, I held it in and put a smile I didn’t feel on my face. I picked my phone up. “I have to make a call,” I said to Zoe, holding up a finger.
The movie would continue to play even while I made the call. I closed my door because I wasn’t sure I could contain my reaction if one of the two calls didn’t produce the results I desperately needed.