Page 39 of The Do-Over

A grin spread across his face. Before I could blink, he pressed a sloppy kiss to my cheek and ran off in a trill of giggles.

Since I’d started working at the daycare, I’d already learned a thing or two about kids. For instance, they were gross. I’d been sneezed on, peed on, spit on—accidentally, but no less disgusting—and on one occasion I hoped to never repeat, puked on. I’d been covered with paint, marker, glue, and glitter. I’d found something—food, art supply, a used band-aid—in my hair each day when I got home. I’d started bringing a change of clothes to work, just in case. But the kids were also adorable, liberal with their giggles and smiles and hugs, and worth all the changes I’d had to make for this job.

For example, most days, I woke up and got myself to work by 6 a.m. After figuring out what my new paycheck would look like and another panicked call to Mathias, I made a plan to walk to work.

“You can no longer afford luxuries. Like gas,” Mathias had said.

There were other cost-saving efforts in place. I packed my lunch and I’d limited myself to donuts on Fridays only. Between the walking and the kids, it was all I could do to drag myself to the grocery store these last couple of weeks. Turns out, a woman could live on peanut butter sandwiches alone.

But it was worth it. Sometimes I found myself smiling so big, my cheeks hurt. I’d somehow become one of those people who was excited to wake up and go to work.

With a grin, I added this valentine to my growing stack. After work, I planned to take them all home and hang them on my refrigerator, so I could smile every time I saw them.

“You’re staying until six tonight, right?”

I jolted from my thoughts and found Miss Marge standing in front of me. “Yes, ma’am.”

Amanda, one of the other teachers, had begged me to work closing on Valentine’s Day for her, and I’d agreed. It wasn’t as though I had a hot date waiting in the wings, although my mother had attempted to set me up on no fewer than three blind dates. I’d avoided her calls and texts with ninja-like stealth. Besides, it would give me a chance to work on setting up the accounting program I was trying to talk Miss Marge into. A trial run, of course.

Miss Marge grinned. “Good.”

“I figured I’d set up that laptop for you tonight.”

On my first day of work, I’d discovered Miss Marge was old school. Like old, old school. She had a sign-in sheet for parents, an actual pen-and-paper setup. Her records were kept in that book she carried. Any transactions involving money were noted there. An old-fashioned triple carbon-copy receipt book was used when needed. She kept all her expense receipts in a shoebox. And every two weeks, we employees received paper checks.

It made my eye twitch thinking about all that extra work that could be replaced with a simple computer program. A laptop was hiding under her desk, a Christmas gift from her son. She hadn’t even taken it out of the box.

It was a joke between us now. I threatened to set up the laptop; she thought I was teasing. “It will make your life so much easier.”

“I’ve always done it this way,” she said, holding up the bulging account book and clipboard.

“Sometimes it’s better to ask for forgiveness than permission. I’m sure once you see how much easier it is, you’ll appreciate it.”

Marge shook her head. “All you need to do is make sure the right kid goes home with the right parent. Think you can handle it?”

I grinned, realizing she hadn’t said no to my plan. “I’ll try my best.”

“Make sure the parents sign the kids out here.” She held up the clipboard. My next goal was to set up a digital sign-in/sign-out. Baby steps. “By the way,” she said over her shoulder as she headed for the hallway, “it’s nice to see you in jeans finally.”

On the first day of work, I’d shown up in linen pants and a cream-colored blouse. Miss Marge had shaken her head and said it was clear as day I’d never worked with kids. Despite that, she let me stay. It didn’t take long for me to be gazing with envy at the leggings and jeans and t-shirts the other teachers wore.

Depressingly, my closet was full of dark, sad suits. Which was why I’d ended up at Walmart one Tuesday evening, buying a few pairs of sensible jeans and solid-colored t-shirts.

“Is that a cat on your shirt?” Mathias had asked when he’d seen one of my new outfits.

I’d grinned. “It’s great, isn’t it? I got one with puppies on it, too. The kids love them.”

He’d rolled his eyes, but he did it with love. “I didn’t think it could get worse than the suits. I was wrong.”

But I didn’t care what Mathias (and I’m sure my mother) had to say about my new clothes. I liked them.

By quarter to six, there were four kids left. Michael and Sarah were a set of twins whose mother was always the last to arrive. Julian, my little valentine-giver, was also still there. The fourth child, a little girl with dark hair, was curled in one of the beanbag chairs with her nose in a book. She wore a long-sleeved t-shirt with a giant eagle flying in front of an American flag, purple-and-blue striped leggings and a pale pink tutu.

“She’s a new one,” Amanda had said with a snap of her gum as she’d packed up to leave for the day. She always worked the closing shift and knew more of the school-aged kids. “Her dad is kind of hot. But she’s weird.”

Weird was okay. I was weird. I made my way to her side of the room. “Good story?”

Huge dark eyes rose above the top of the book. “Uh-huh.”