The alarm rudely goes off as a digital nightstand clock reaches six-fifteen. The soft face of the woman now crunches. Barely opening her eyes, she sits up, slouching. She looks over at the clock with loathing and softly smacks a button on it and exhales heavily. She opens her tired eyes and feels her disheveled hair, frowning. She looks over to her bedmate, and tells him in somewhat of a monotone, lightly jostling him, “Matt, wakey, wakey.”
In a falsetto, the man answers, “No, Mommy, I don’t want to go to school today. I think I have pneumonia.”
Without cracking a smile, she shoves Matt, “Babe, that would be a lot funnier if you didn’t use it everyday.”
“I know, but it’s hard to come up with new ones at the crack of dawn,” he says, shielding his eyes from the sun, which is already ten degrees above the horizon.
Getting out of bed in her long white nightgown, she tells him, “I’m getting the kids up. What do you want for breakfast?”
“Ice cream,” Matt says, smiling and getting out of bed.
“Matt, Honey, I wanted three children, not four…” Amber replies, getting clothes from the bureau.
* * *
Amber walks down the hall and into the first room across from the staircase. She knocks, “
Raising an eyebrow, she sighs, “You don’t leave for another forty-five minutes. What do you want for breakfast?”
“I’m gonna have some cereal and a banana. I’ll get it. You get Caroline and Luke.”
“Did I ever tell you I love you?”
“Every time I do something right… and before I go camps and stuff.”
“I do all the time; I just am reminded at those times.” She grabs her eldest daughter in a hug.
Leaning into it but rolling her eyes,
Amber walks to the next door and knocks, “Luke, you up yet, Baby?”
“Yeah, Mom,” the door opens and an eleven-year-old boy with sandy brown hair emerges wearing faded jeans and wrinkled tee-shirt declaring “Be More or Less Specific!”
Amber looks him up and down, “Didn’t you wear that yesterday?”
He looks down, “Yeah, but this is my favorite shirt.”
“Luke, if you don’t go back into your room and change your shirt, I’m going to have a mid-life crisis because of the complete domesticity of my life.”
“But, Mom, you’re like forty-six,”
Teeth clenched, she responds, “That is mid-life. Shirt.”
The door closes. Amber quietly laughs. “I did choose domestic life.”
“Matt, we’ve discussed this. I was only going to work until we starting having kids.”
“That’s fine. I just don’t want to give up what you love.”
“What I love is not what I’m giving up. What I love is what I’m choosing.”
Amber folds her hands, “Lord, give me the strength and the patience to wake up Caroline.”
Amber knocks on the door at the end of the hall, “Caroline, are you awake?”
There is no response. She opens the door, but finds it locked. Her hand reaches above the doorframe and pulls out a metal pin, which she uses to unlock the door. Inside is a sight to behold. A teenage girl, about thirteen, is sprawled on her bed. Her pillow is on the floor beside her, along with numerous items of clothing; her head is flat against the bed; the covers are entangled with her body; and her alarm is loudly buzzing in the corner. The girl doesn’t seem to notice. Amber pauses a minute to admire the hair of her daughter, which is much shorter and a shade darker, but the same hue of cherry red.
Amber shakes the girl, “Wake up, Caroline.”
“Go away, Mom. I’m sleeping. How’d you get in here?”
“A little trick I learned,” the mother replies, dropping the pin in her pocket and turning off the noisy alarm clock. “Get dressed.”
Caroline rolls out of bed and flat onto the floor, listless. Ignoring this, her mother asks her, “What do you want for breakfast?”
“Coke…”
“You can’t have Coke for breakfast.”
“Watch me…” but Caroline sighs, “Just orange juice, I’ll get something at school.”
“Okay, but I hope you’re not getting drunk or anything.”
Still face first against the ground, Caroline laughs. Turning over, she says, flatly, “Mom, get caught up with the times. Classroom doorways were equipped with metal detectors and breathalyzers years ago.”
Amber reluctantly goes downstairs.
Caroline comes down, dressed in short jean shorts and a purple tee-shirt that doesn’t quite come down to the waist.
“Young lady, you are not wearing that to school.”
“Mom! This was mildly controversial when I was born. There are girls wearing less.”
“And how many of them get pregnant?”
“None, Mom. No one gets pregnant in school anymore. Between sex-ed at church and sex-ed at school and normal junior high conversation, the existence of contraceptives is well known.” Amber yelps.
Caroline groans. “Mom, I am thirteen, not three. Get over it.” She grabs the glass of orange from her mother’s hand, and gulps it down in a few seconds and goes upstairs again without another word.
Amber’s solitude in the kitchen is brief. Matt walks in, dressed in a business suit, tying his tie. “Hey, Babe, you fall asleep standing up again?” He grabs her shoulder and she leans toward him.
“You know, I wouldn’t trade her for anything in the world, but still…”
Turning her towards him, he kisses the top of her head, “Caroline?”
“Who else?” She pauses, “What time you gonna be home tonight?”
“About seven-thirty.”
Amber’s faces crunches in disapproval, “Why so late?” she asks him, looking up.
“I’ve got a lot of projects I’m working on. Extra hours means a better bonus.”
“Why’re you worried about your bonus?”
“Well, if you would stop going on shopping sprees,” he comments, walking away.
Defensively, she replies, “I don’t go on shopping sprees. I buy what we need.”
“Honey, you did the budgeting for one of the largest corporations in the world. Flawlessly. And you do our budgeting. Tell me why I need to work overtime.”
“Low profit margin,” she mumbles.
“Low profit margin? Amber, this is our home… our family. We’re not saving enough money for
“Maybe she can get scholarships,” offered Amber.
“Well, of course she can. Girl’s fifteen and already got a 27 on the ACT. And that’s the new hard one. But, what about Caroline?”
“Matt, college financial aid has improved ten times since we went. Don’t worry about the future. We’ll deal.”
She hugs him, and he reciprocates the embrace.
“Honey, bye. I’ve got to get to work.” Matt says, casually.
“I bet you do.” He leaves, and Amber screams, “Caroline! It is time to go!”
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