Waylon is gone when I finally wake up.  I had figured I'd find him pissed off and holed up on the couch when I got up but he must have been serious when he said he needed his friends.  Anyway, it's a good thing he's not here.  I need to try and start to figure things out.  I've got about three weeks until the rent on the lot is due.  We don't have much food in the house and I'm guessing Waylon might get hungry at some point.  What do you feed a thirteen year old?  Dougie always took care of that.  I'm never here at dinner. 

 

I'm going to have to get a job, and the sooner the better.  I'm a good hard worker but I'm not a pushover.  I'm not gonna put up with shit.  I tried being a waitress.  That was a bad fit.  And I'll tell you why.  It's usually the women who are the worst.  It's either, "This portion's too big. This portion's too small.  I'd like the dressing on the side.  Can you make sure the chef knows I don't want pepper on one side.  Blah, blah, blah."

 

Now men, on the other hand, would eat a burger that they dropped on the floor.  They laugh if something's too spicy. They'll wash a piece of burned pizza down with an ice cold beer.  The thing about some men is they do a little something called grab ass.  And Miranda Jessup Buckley don't play that game.

 

After getting let go for "attitude problems"  I switched over to retail.  I got fired from Bensons Pharmacy all because I told an ancient old relic (Mrs. Harding) to go some place else to shop.  Was it nice of me to do that?  Absolutely not.  But here's the thing.  Every time that old crusty biddy came in she would methodically go through the items on the shelves and loudly report that they were cheaper at Turners Apothecary store.  So, after about six months of listening to her I snapped.

 

"Mrs. Harding, carry your geriatric ass to Turners Apothecary and save that thirteen cents on your hemorrhoid cream."

 

Mr. Benson, the owner, just looked at me and pointed to the door.  And that was that.

 

I got the job at The Little Eagle Gas and Go a few days later.  And it was a good fit, at least until yesterday.

 

I need to talk to someone who can help me sort things out.  I need my momma.

 

 

 

Momma frowns when she opens the door.  "Why aren't you at work?"

 

"Nice to see you too."

 

I maneuver past her and head for the kitchen.  "Got any coffee made ?"

 

"I'm always happy to see you, Miranda, but your impromptu visits usually mean bad news."

 

"Everything's good."

 

"Pour me another cup while you're at it then sit down and tell me what's going on."

 

I carefully fill two mugs and carry them to where she waits at the table.

 

"Well, you remember how you told me not to get involved with Dougie?"

 

Her lips disappear into a thin line and she nods.

 

"Turns out you were correct."

 

"What's happening?  Is he stepping out on you?"

 

"Momma, he left me.  Packed up almost everything he had and moved to Myrtle Beach."

 

Her face goes from pinched to sympathetic in an instant.  "Oh, honey, I'm so sorry.   Are you okay?"

 

I shrug.  "I'll be fine. But remember when I said he took almost everything?  Well, guess what he left."  I pause but don't wait for her to answer. "He left his kid."

 

"What!  No, he did not.  And you were okay with that?"

 

"It all happened so fast, I don't know.  One minute I'm at work and Rita tells me that someone said Dougie was leaving town.  The next minute I'm flying down 17 doing 25 over the speed limit.  And I find him packing up all his stuff.  I didn't have a whole lot of time to process it.  Then Matt is calling me telling me to get my ass back to work."

 

"Well, I sure hope Matt apologized after you explained what was going on."

 

"I got fired."

 

My momma closes her eyes and let's  go a big sigh.  "When it rains, it pours." She reaches across and puts her hand over mine.  "You're a strong woman, Miranda.  You're going to get through this.  But you can't take care of this kid."

 

"I don't really want to but he's got no one else."

 

"There's a reason you and Farley never had any kids.  And, Miranda, we all know he wasn't shooting blanks.  He's got about four kids with as many different women."

 

I put my head down on the table.  "You should give pep talks for a living," I mutter.

 

"What happened when you brought that baby home for your parenting course in the tenth grade?"

 

"First off, it was a doll and not a baby.  And second, I had things to do that weekend."

 

"It died.  Two hours after you brought it into the house.  You killed that baby.  You were not meant to be a mother."

 

"Again, doll not a living breathing human being and I was fifteen.  I'm thirty six years old.  I don't think I'm going to kill the kid."

 

She smiles. "I know you aren't going to kill him.  But teenagers can be downright hateful.  Are you prepared for that?"

 

I perk up.  I've seen that part already.  I've been on the receiving end and I survived.  I can do this.  Granted, I'm not gonna win any awards for mother of the year but if I can keep him alive, off drugs and in school, well, shit,  I'm doing better than a lot of parents out there.

 

I look over at my mother and smile.  "Good talk.  I'll call you later this week."

 

I dump the leftover coffee into the sink, kiss her cheek and head for the door.

 

"Miranda, what are going to do?"

 

"I'm gonna do what you, God, and apparently everyone else thinks I'm not capable of.  I'm gonna be a mom."

 

 

To be contined