#MomFail: 24 Authors & 24 Mom-Coms Page 3

  “What? Why?” Hunter asks as he hands me a towel to wipe my mouth.

  “Because I just handed my mother a tube of lube instead of the diaper rash cream. She couldn’t even look me in the eye.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “As a heart attack.”

  Hunter chuckles and says, “That’s kind of awesome.”

  Awesome or not, it’s still #Momfail#3

  Chapter 3

  Clean-up In Aisle Four

  Kyra

  “Don’t forget, we have the evaluation with early intervention this afternoon,” I yell to Hunter as I grab my purse and the grocery list off the fridge. If I leave now, I’ll have time to make it to Target and the grocery store before the meeting.

  It’s still early, but my kiddo runs on the motto that sleep is a privilege and not a necessity. I’m still trying to figure out how to function best at four in the morning, but he’s got it down to a science.

  But today is a stressful day no matter what time I could have woken up. Mostly because I have no idea what to expect from this evaluation. We’ve been through so many, and they never get easier. Usually, I’m just as exhausted and stressed out as Kellen by the time the appointment ends.

  Around the time he turned two, we knew something was wrong. His speech was delayed and his milestones were too. We hooked up with a wonderful social worker who has given us our official membership card into the world of autism.

  It was never a place I imagined myself ending up, but once our ship sailed in this direction, I realized we had no choice but to accept a new normal. Like our son, we have good days and bad days, and a few we’d like to forget.

  But as I roam the aisles at the grocery store, and even manage to grab a cart without a shaky wheel, I feel like this day is heading in the right direction.

  It’s so quiet in here, and all the produce looks brighter. The misting displays make the lettuce look sexy, and that eggplant sure does scream desire.

  By the time I get to aisle four, I have a good chunk of what I came for and slow my roll to pick up some taco sauce. I plop it in the cart by the bread so I can use both hands to climb on the bottom shelf and reach the box I need all the way at the top.

  I get one nail on the edge and slide the box forward. Once it’s in my possession, I toss it in the cart, forgetting about the jar still sitting in the front.

  Now, we all know the little section where kids sit isn’t made for breakables. They’ll fall through the leg holes and hit the floor. But I forget all about my taco sauce until it does just that—shatters all over my feet.

  I stand there for a second like it’ll all go away if I pray hard enough. I even open my purse and look around for some tissues. Of course I have a pack of Wet Ones, but no amount of wipes are going to clean up this crime scene.

  On the heels of my feet, the only clean parts of my flip flops, I waddle through the mess and push my cart toward the front of the store.

  Of course there’s only one cash register open at this hour, so I have no choice but to wait in line for my turn. Going over my speech a million different ways, I finally come up with something that sounds a little less pathetic.

  But when it’s finally my turn, an announcement over the loudspeaker speaks the truth for me, alerting the entire grocery store of the mishap in aisle four.

  “That was me,” I mutter. “Do you have any paper towels I can wipe off with?”

  The woman glances over the conveyor belt and sees my red feet. “I think you’re bleeding.”

  “It’s taco sauce,” I tell her as calmly as possible. “Ole!”

  She hands me a wad of paper towels and I wipe my feet off. And then, I see she’s right. My toes are sliced open from the glass, and I’m bleeding all over the checkout.

  Maybe it’s the adrenaline coursing through my veins, but I don’t feel any pain. The manager yells, “We have a bleeder!” and pulls me over to a chair.

  He then takes a full report in front of all the other customers on how this happened. After my last statement, he tucks his clipboard under his arm and shakes his head. Then he pulls my cart closer and flips the plastic piece in the front compartment up and down. I get it. I do. But I’m about to be schooled on proper cart procedure anyway.

  “Do you see this?” he asks.

  “Yes,” I tell him.

  And then, just as I suspected, he proceeds to lecture me in cart care 101. After all, that’s what keeps shoppers safe. Considering I just wrapped my left foot in brown, harsh, paper towel, kind of like the scratchy toilet paper in offices and hospitals, all I can do is listen to his speech. And when he finishes, I take what’s left of my pride to the car, and I drive to medical aid.

  The reactions I get there aren’t much better. It’s slow, and two doctors and three nurses come into the room, just to hear what happened. I guess they don’t see taco sauce debacles very often.

  Three stitched up toes later, I can successfully say I’ve survived #Momfail#4.

  I may look like I just ran through hot coals, but I wasn’t late to that meeting with the social worker. But I did forget the diapers.

  Afterword

  If you enjoyed Okayest Mom Ever, check out the prologue for Stay Awhile, a contemporary romance.

  Stay Awhile

  Prologue

  Megan

  As I push the front door open, I’m surprised the house is still lit up at almost eleven o’clock at night. My flight was late, late enough that Laney should be in bed by now. But as I lug my suitcase into the foyer, and can’t find my husband or my daughter, I assume they’re hiding from me, waiting to welcome me home as soon as I find them.

  “Laney,” I call out. “Where are you, baby? Connor?”

  A tall brunette in a business suit sits at the island in the kitchen, waving her hands around frantically as she talks into her cell phone. There’s a glass of white wine in front of her, most likely my favorite Moscato.

  My first reaction is to pull her off the stool and ask her why she’s sitting in my house, but I hang back by the doorway, listening to her conversation. “Connor has no idea, Mia. I promise there’s no way it’ll be a problem. He told me I can trust him, and this is my way of making sure I can.”

  Knowing she’s here for my husband, in my house, drinking my wine, only makes the rage inside me build. How could he bring her into our home? Better yet, how did she even get inside if he isn’t here?

  I’m scared enough that I’m shaking, and I as I tap her on her shoulder, my hand trembles. “Excuse me,” I say with more apprehension than venom.

  She turns around so fast, her extensions slap her in the face. “What are you doing here?”

  “I’d like to ask you the same thing, but I think I already have a pretty good idea. Where’s my husband?”

  She ends her phone call, slamming it down on the marble countertop. “Connor told me to meet him here at nine-thirty, after his daughter was in bed. You definitely weren’t supposed to be here.”

  “You know about me? And you don’t care?”

  “It is what it is,” she says rudely. “But I guess he had his facts mixed up.”

  “If Connor’s not here, how did you get inside?”

  “With my key.”

  My heart pounds so hard in my chest, I can feel my pulse thumping in both ears. Like I’m stuck under the water in a tunnel, I’m desperately trying to kick my way to the surface before I run out of oxygen.

  In the pit of my stomach, I had a feeling Connor was seeing someone else, but it hurt too much to imagine him romantically involved with another woman. He’s mine. He’s always been mine. And I have no idea why that’s changed for him.

  “Have you been here before?” I ask her, even though I’m afraid to hear the answer to my own question.

  “Yes,” she answers, simply. No explanation—nothing. I deserve so much more than that.

  I should yell at her, rip her fake hair out, and toss her bitchy ass out on the front porch where it belongs. Anything to show
her that she can’t come into my house and wait for my husband. I don’t say a word though. My body is shaking too hard, and my teeth are chattering like I’m standing in a foot of snow completely naked. That’s how exposed I feel with her in my home.

  When I don’t move, she asks, “Are you okay?”

  “Do I look okay?”

  She shrugs her shoulders like she doesn’t need to give my question a dignified response. I hate her even more.

  I’m devastated Connor used my time away to play house with another woman instead of spending quality time with our daughter. I’m sad it took me this long to come to terms with what I already knew was going on behind my back. More than anything, I’m crushed that I have the proof standing in front of me that he’s nothing more than a lying, cheating asshole.

  “You need to leave,” I tell her when she doesn’t offer to leave on her own.

  She doesn’t argue, and I don’t even bother to ask for her name. It doesn’t matter. All that matters is my daughter, and right now, she’s not where she’s supposed to be—safe and sound in her bed.

  As soon as she’s gone, I dial Connor’s number. It rings the standard four times before going to voicemail. There’s no return call, no text, nothing from him—and I’m worried.

  I pull my laptop out of the bag I brought it home in, cursing the Wi-Fi for taking so long to connect. As soon as the search engine pops up, I type in the name of the closest hospital. My fingers are so cold I spell it wrong two times before I get the letters in the right places.

  The first number I spot is for the emergency room, so that’s the one I call. Every mother’s worst nightmare comes true as I beg the receptionist to search for my tiny family. The one I never imagined could break. “Connor Campbell and Laney Campbell,” I tell her.

  “Ma’am, they’re both listed. Connor is here, but Laney has been transferred to Children’s Hospital.”

  “Ohmigod.”

  When I dialed the number, I never imagined that’s where they’d actually be. I was praying it was a flat tire, or maybe they ran out of gas and had to take a walk.

  Now that I found them, I have a million questions I need answers to, but I’m not going to get any of those until I get to the hospital, so I hang up and try to put one foot in front of the other despite my legs feeling like cement and my feet like bricks.

  As I run around my living room, searching for Laney’s favorite doll, I realize she must have taken it with her. We spent hours in the American Girl store when I took her to New York City at the end of summer. She told me it was heaven on earth and her favorite place in the whole world. Now, she’s lying in some scary hospital without me. My baby is all alone.

  What if she’s not okay?

  What if my husband isn’t okay?

  I can’t breathe.

  You can find where to download the rest of Stay Awhile on Goodreads (Stay Awhile)

  About the Author

  Gia Riley has been in love with writing romance since high school when she took her very first creative writing class. From the small but mighty state of Delaware, she’s a country girl at heart, traveling back to her roots in Pennsylvania as often as she can.

  She’d rather pick truth than dare, bake than cook, and will always choose coffee over tea.

  Just like life, her stories always have a mixture of heart and humor.

  You can connect with Gia on Facebook, Twitter, or Instagram. She also has a reader group, Gia Riley’s Books, on Facebook. Stop by anytime, she loves hearing from readers!

  Facebook:

  https://www.facebook.com/authorgiariley

  Twitter:

  https://twitter.com/AuthorGiaRiley

  Instagram:

  https://www.instagram.com/authorgiariley

  www.authorgiariley.com

  Also by Gia Riley

  SOLO TITLES:

  I’ll Make You Mine – New Adult Romantic Comedy, releasing September, 2017

  Stay Awhile – Contemporary Romance

  Rock the Boat – Contemporary Romance

  Rock the City – Contemporary Romance.

  Lighter – New Adult Romance

  Weightless – New Adult Romance

  In Pieces – Young Adult Romance

  COWRITTEN TITLES:

  Drowning – Contemporary Romance

  Lover – Erotic Contemporary Romance

  What’s That Smell?

  Shari J. Ryan

  Copyright © 2017 by Shari J. Ryan

  All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction based loosely on a personal non-fiction story. Names and characters are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to unrelated characters to the author, being: actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Printed in the United States of America

  Edited by: Lisa Brown

  Shari J. Ryan

  www.sharijryan.com

  To my little boys. You are the best lessons in life, ones I’m still learning everyday. Thank you for teaching me how to be a mom.

  What’s That Smell

  "Blankie?" I begin.

  "Check," Jake responds.

  "Stuffie?"

  "Check."

  "Sippy cup?"

  "Check.”

  "Snacks?"

  "Check. Wait, what about the Benadryl?" Jake asks.

  "I don't know, babe. I've heard mixed things about drugging our child before a flight," I tell him.

  "You've heard mixed things?” he repeats. "Like what? It helps kids sleep and keeps them from screaming their heads off on the plane, driving us, and everyone around us, crazy."

  I grab the carry-on bag from Jake's hand and bring it over to the front door. "No. Like it's bad parenting to drug your kid for selfish purposes," I argue.

  "But...the doctor told you to give him Benadryl two hours before the flight, right?" Jake asks.

  "Yes, but that was because I thought he was coming down with a cold the other day, and he doesn't have a cold now."

  "What about his ears?" Jake continues.

  "We'll bring baby Motrin in case his ears hurt."

  "Jenn, you're acting ridiculous. Let's make our first flight with Connor a good one, okay?” Jake makes his way over to me and places his hands on my shoulders. "I know you're nervous, but everything is going to be just fine. I'm going to go load up the car."

  I take a deep breath, shrugging off my nerves about flying. I don't like flying without Connor, never mind with him. What if there's turbulence or we're stuck circling above Orlando because of air traffic control issues? So many things could go wrong, but it's Disney, and he's going to have the time of his life—or however much fun an almost-two-year-old can have.

  "Connor, no more toys, buddy. We packed everything up already." I'm pretty sure he thinks we're moving out of our house and he's scared to leave anything behind.

  "Jus’ oneeee more," he whines.

  "Okay, that's it though. Daddy is packing up the car, and we're going to leave for the airport where you get to see real life planes!" Maybe I should just give him the Benadryl. Ugh, why is this parenting shit so hard?

  "Paaaaaannes!" Connor reveals the toy he finally found, and it's a plane. He's flying it around the living room, spitting everywhere as his engine sputters to life…then crashes into the wall.

  So, that's fun. "No, no, we don't want the plane to go boom. You know what, though? Do you want a little fun juice before we leave?" I ask him as I lift him up.

  "Yes! Boom. Boom!"

  "No," I say sternly. "No boom, just juice."

  "Boom," he says again. Giving in to Jake’s suggestion, I suck the Benadryl into a syringe and kneel beside Connor.

  "Here comes the first plane," I say, playfully. I don't know why this kid loves medicine syrups so much, but it's never a fight getting it into him. Maybe they made them taste better since I was a kid. He opens his mouth wide, and I get it in quickly without any spillage. Mom s
core! "I think we're ready to go."

  "I think you need some Benadryl," Jake tells me as he walks back inside from packing up the car.

  "Maybe I do." Or a Valium—something.

  The ride to the airport somehow manages to calm me down a little, and I feel a touch better by the time we arrive there. I pretty much bought every airport contraption for a child that I could find. I even have a leash on Connor because child leashes are totally acceptable, and almost no one is staring at me like I'm a crazy person.

  I temporarily feel okay for just a minute as I manage to find the benefit of flying with a child. Everyone seems to understand the struggle of lugging so much through a terminal, so they move to the side as we're passing by.

  However, my temporary relief ends as they start pre-boarding the plane. For the first time in my entire twenty-seven years of life, pre-boarding is only for the rich and old—not anyone with kids. Nope, why would anyone with kids need to get onto the plane first? Nice. Let's pick today for all airlines to change their rules. "What the hell?"

  "Babe, it's okay, the plane isn't leaving without us, and we're going to be just fine." I wish I shared his confidence.

  "Okay, fine, I'm going to go change Connor's diaper real quick, so we don't have to deal with that in the air," I tell him while grabbing the baby bag that may or may not be too big to fit in the overhead compartment, suddenly regretting not bring the bag that would fit under the seat in front of me. Switching the stuff I'm holding for Connor, I lift him up and rush to the bathroom, nervous that they'll start piling everyone onto the plane in less than a minute. We're in Zone F, though, so that means we're probably sitting by the toilets and getting seated last.