the Izzy. Then she adjusted her shades, making sure they were on straight.
Izzy, of course, was adorable, even with a half-dozen toddlers, including her twins, racing around her feet. How someone could look so good in a T-shirt, blue blazer, large-rimmed glasses, and a messy bun was beyond Allyson.
Allyson waved to leave.
“Hey!” Izzy called out, motioning for her to stop.
Allyson reluctantly did.
Izzy cocked an eyebrow and offered a serious expression. “Don’t kill the messenger, but the Sunday School Coordinator said to remember your number this time.”
“Yes, yes, okay, fine.” She waved her hands in the air. “But please, please don’t page me over something trivial.”
Izzy’s face scrunched up as if she’d just taken a bite of a lemon. “The fire department didn’t think it was trivial!”
“Izzy,” Allyson said flatly. “Look at me.” She stepped forward and with one quick motion pulled her sunglasses off her face, revealing her right eye and the smudges of black mascara all around it. Bailey had gone wild with the wand, smearing it under Allyson’s eye and on her eyelid before she could stop her.
Izzy winced and pulled back as if the spider-like swipes of mascara were really a spider. “Aaagh . . .”
“I just need an hour to myself. On Mother’s Day. Please.”
Izzy nodded. “Yeah, like me. With twenty toddlers.”
Allyson turned, steepled her hands, and then gave her friend a quick curtsy. “Thank you. You’re a servant.” She pointed, and then hurried away before Izzy had any other messages for her.
“Sure! And fix the eye!” Izzy called after her. “It’s weird . . . even for me!”
Allyson didn’t have to be told twice. She hurried to the foyer bathroom and placed her large purse on the bathroom counter. She opened it, digging through the items—unpacking them on the counter. “Library book, diaper (thankfully clean), sippy cup, toy dog,” she muttered under her breath as she tossed each item onto the countertop. She was looking for the baby wipes, but then remembered she’d used them all two days ago, cleaning the chocolate off Beck’s face before his dentist appointment.
Well, plan B.
She turned to the get paper towels, deciding that rough, brown paper towels and tap water would have to do. She quickly swiped her hand over the automatic sensor, waiting to hear the rumble of the machine letting out one brown square. Nothing happened. She tried again, slower this time. Nothing. She tried waving her hand faster, and then she tilted her head to make sure there were paper towels up there. There were.
She swiped her hand again, nothing, and then she pushed her fingers up into the bottom rim, attempting to snag a piece big enough to yank out. It didn’t work.
Tension tightened in Allyson’s arms, and she closed her eyes slowly, telling herself to calm down. She took one slow breath, blowing it out. She’d heard that worked for some people, but obviously not for her.
Allyson eyed the paper towel dispenser again, wondering what it had against her. It was as if it knew that this was not her day and it taunted her by holding back. Frustration shot through her limbs.
“Work!” Allyson shouted at the machine. “Work!” She hit it once, twice, three times. “Why won’t you work?!” her voice rose in volume, and she stamped her foot on the ground, just like she’d seen Bailey do a hundred times.
Just then, she heard the toilet flush, and heat rushed to her cheeks. Her heart rate quickened, and she quickly stepped back from the paper towel dispenser. With one smooth motion, Allyson swooped her hair down over her forehead so that the mascara eye wouldn’t be so obvious.
Allyson held in her horror as Mattie Mae Lloyd exited the bathroom stall, slinking toward the sink with a swoosh of her floral skirt. Mattie Mae washed her hands, offering Allyson the smallest smile and a judgmental glance. Allyson fiddled with her hair, pretending like it had been someone
Izzy, of course, was adorable, even with a half-dozen toddlers, including her twins, racing around her feet. How someone could look so good in a T-shirt, blue blazer, large-rimmed glasses, and a messy bun was beyond Allyson.
Allyson waved to leave.
“Hey!” Izzy called out, motioning for her to stop.
Allyson reluctantly did.
Izzy cocked an eyebrow and offered a serious expression. “Don’t kill the messenger, but the Sunday School Coordinator said to remember your number this time.”
“Yes, yes, okay, fine.” She waved her hands in the air. “But please, please don’t page me over something trivial.”
Izzy’s face scrunched up as if she’d just taken a bite of a lemon. “The fire department didn’t think it was trivial!”
“Izzy,” Allyson said flatly. “Look at me.” She stepped forward and with one quick motion pulled her sunglasses off her face, revealing her right eye and the smudges of black mascara all around it. Bailey had gone wild with the wand, smearing it under Allyson’s eye and on her eyelid before she could stop her.
Izzy winced and pulled back as if the spider-like swipes of mascara were really a spider. “Aaagh . . .”
“I just need an hour to myself. On Mother’s Day. Please.”
Izzy nodded. “Yeah, like me. With twenty toddlers.”
Allyson turned, steepled her hands, and then gave her friend a quick curtsy. “Thank you. You’re a servant.” She pointed, and then hurried away before Izzy had any other messages for her.
“Sure! And fix the eye!” Izzy called after her. “It’s weird . . . even for me!”
Allyson didn’t have to be told twice. She hurried to the foyer bathroom and placed her large purse on the bathroom counter. She opened it, digging through the items—unpacking them on the counter. “Library book, diaper (thankfully clean), sippy cup, toy dog,” she muttered under her breath as she tossed each item onto the countertop. She was looking for the baby wipes, but then remembered she’d used them all two days ago, cleaning the chocolate off Beck’s face before his dentist appointment.
Well, plan B.
She turned to the get paper towels, deciding that rough, brown paper towels and tap water would have to do. She quickly swiped her hand over the automatic sensor, waiting to hear the rumble of the machine letting out one brown square. Nothing happened. She tried again, slower this time. Nothing. She tried waving her hand faster, and then she tilted her head to make sure there were paper towels up there. There were.
She swiped her hand again, nothing, and then she pushed her fingers up into the bottom rim, attempting to snag a piece big enough to yank out. It didn’t work.
Tension tightened in Allyson’s arms, and she closed her eyes slowly, telling herself to calm down. She took one slow breath, blowing it out. She’d heard that worked for some people, but obviously not for her.
Allyson eyed the paper towel dispenser again, wondering what it had against her. It was as if it knew that this was not her day and it taunted her by holding back. Frustration shot through her limbs.
“Work!” Allyson shouted at the machine. “Work!” She hit it once, twice, three times. “Why won’t you work?!” her voice rose in volume, and she stamped her foot on the ground, just like she’d seen Bailey do a hundred times.
Just then, she heard the toilet flush, and heat rushed to her cheeks. Her heart rate quickened, and she quickly stepped back from the paper towel dispenser. With one smooth motion, Allyson swooped her hair down over her forehead so that the mascara eye wouldn’t be so obvious.
Allyson held in her horror as Mattie Mae Lloyd exited the bathroom stall, slinking toward the sink with a swoosh of her floral skirt. Mattie Mae washed her hands, offering Allyson the smallest smile and a judgmental glance. Allyson fiddled with her hair, pretending like it had been someone
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