Twenty minutes that had me silently begging for patience. Or for the end. For anything to make him stop. Oh my God. I was crying invisible tears and sobbing silently.
I’d been dropping Josh and Lou off at school and daycare for a long time, and in that period, waking up before seven hadn’t gotten any easier. I doubted it ever would. My soul cried every morning when the alarm went off; then it cried even more when I had to keep after Josh to wake up, get out of bed, and get dressed. So listening to him complain for the hundredth time about the unfairness of starting all over again was too much to handle before lunchtime.
To be fair, a huge part of me could understand that having to make new friends sucked. But it was a better school than the one he’d been at before, and Josh—not counting this moment—was the kind of kid I was proud to be mine, who made friends easily. He got that from our side of the family. I’d give him a week before he had a new best friend, two weeks before someone invited him for a sleepover, and three weeks before he completely forgot he had ever complained in the first place. He adapted well. Both boys did.
But this, this was making it seem like I was ruining his life. At least that was what he was pretty much hinting at. Me destroying a ten-year-old’s life. I could cross that off my bucket list.
When his grandparents had dropped him off the night before after being gone for a week, and he’d already been in a terrible mood, I should have known what I’d be getting myself into.
“Who am I going to sit with at lunch? Who is going to let me borrow a pencil if I need one?” he pleaded out the question like a total drama queen. I wasn’t sure where the hell he’d picked that up from.
My real question was: why wouldn’t he have a pencil to begin with? I’d bought him a value pack and mechanical pencils.
I didn’t bother answering or asking about the pencil situation, because at this point, I thought he just wanted to hear himself talk, and anything I said wasn’t going to be helpful. Commentary was pointless, and frankly, I didn’t trust myself not to make a sarcastic comment that he would take the worst way possible because he was in a mood.
“Who am I going to talk to?” he kept going, undaunted by the silence. “Who am I going to invite to my birthday?”
Oh dear God, he was worrying about imaginary birthday parties already. How rude would it be if I turned on the radio loud enough to zone him out?
“Are you listening to me?” Josh asked in that whiney voice he usually spared me from.
I gritted my teeth and kept my face forward so that he wouldn’t see me glaring at him through the rearview mirror. “Yes, I’m listening to you.”
“No, you’re not.”
I sighed and gave the steering wheel a squeeze. “Yes, I am. I’m just not going to say anything because I know you’re not going to believe me when I tell you that you’re going to make friends, that everything is going to be fine, and when your birthday rolls around, you’ll have more than enough people to invite, J.” I kept my mouth shut about his non-pencil problem for both of our sakes. When he didn’t respond, I asked, “Am I right?”
He grumbled.
Just like my damn brother. “Look, I get it. I’ve hated starting at a new job where I didn’t know anyone, but you’re a Casillas. You’re cute, you’re smart, you’re nice, and you’re good at anything you want to be good at. You’ll be fine. You’ll both be fine. You’re amazing.”
More grumbling.
“Right, Louie?” I glanced into the rearview mirror to see the upcoming kindergartner in his booster seat, grinning and nodding.
“Yeah,” he replied, totally cheery.
Seriously, everything about that kid made me smile. Not that Josh didn’t, but not in the same way as Lou. “Are you worried about starting school?” I asked the little one. We’d talked about him starting kinder plenty of times in the past, and every single time, he had seemed stoked about it. There was no reason for me to think otherwise. My biggest worry had been that he might bawl his eyes out when I dropped him off, but Louie wasn’t really that type of kid. He’d loved daycare.
Ginny had warned me that I’d cry taking him to his first day, but there was no way I could or would break down in front of him. If I cried, he’d cry even if he had no idea why. And I’d be damned if that happened. When I’d taken his picture in front of the house a little while earlier, I may have had one little tear in my eye, but that was all I was willing to give up.
“Nope,” he replied in that happy five-year-old voice that made me want to snuggle him until the end of time.
“See, J? Lou’s not worried. You shouldn’t be either.” In the rearview mirror, Josh’s head drooped before falling to the side to rest against the glass window. But it was the huge sigh that came out of such a young body that really got me. “What is it?” I asked.
He shook his head a little.
“Tell me what’s really wrong.”
“Nothing.”
“You know I’m not going to drop it until you tell me. What’s up?”
“Nothing,” he insisted.
I sighed. “J, you can tell me anything.”
With his forehead to the glass, he pressed his mouth to it, steam fogging up the area around his lips. “I was thinking about Dad, okay? He always took me to school the first day.”
Fuck. Why hadn’t I thought of that? Last year, he’d gotten pretty grumpy about starting the school year then too. Only it hadn’t been this bad. Of course, I missed Drigo, too. But I didn’t tell Josh, no matter how much I needed to sometimes. “You know he would tell you—”
“There’s no crying in baseball,” he finished off for me with a sigh.
Rodrigo had been firm and tough, but he’d loved his kids, and there wasn’t a single thing he didn’t think they could do. But he’d been that way with everyone he loved, including me. A knot formed in my throat and had me trying to clear it as discreetly as possible.
Was I doing the right thing with Josh? Or was I being too tough on him? I didn’t know, and the indecision burrowed a notch straight into my heart. It was moments like these that reminded me I had no idea what the hell I was doing, much less what the end result would be when they grew up, and that was terrifying.
“Your new school is going to be great. Trust me, J.” When he didn’t say anything, I turned to look at him over my shoulder. “You trust me, don’t you?”
And just like that, he was back to being a pain in the ass. He rolled his eyes. “Duh.”
“Duh my ass—butt. I’m going to drop you off at the pound on the way home.”
“Oooh,” Louie cooed, forever an instigator.
“Shut up, Lou,” Josh snapped.
“No, thank you.”
“Oh my God, both of you be quiet,” I joked. “Let’s play the quiet game.”
“Let’s not,” Josh replied. “Have you found me a new Select team?”