Life After Coffee Read Online Free Page A

made it. “It’s hilarious! I’m sure the father cobbled it together himself, so sweet that he’s trying.”
    “Right.” What can I say? I insisted on making Billy’s cake this year. I think I was hoping that the act of baking a birthday cake would inch me closer toward bona fide. Three rectangular blocks of Lego. Easy. But it turns out that trying to transform three rectangles of sponge into replica Lego is not that easy at all and it just ended up a mess. Like some Ninjago battle had been fought amongst ancient Lego ruins. What Ms. Judge The Cake doesn’t know, of course, is that if I’d just let Peter make it, it would have been perfect.
    “Of course, the mother’s off again on another business trip, if you can believe it. Right on the morning of her kid’s birthday party! How could she? Have you actually ever met her?” Again, no pause here for me to insert that I am her. And in case you’re wondering, no, I didn’t especially plan to be flying out of the country and missing my son’s fifth-birthday party today. It just worked out that way. Like large sections of my life, it was beyond my control. “Maybe she’s not real. Maybe the dad’s actually on his own, and she’s just someone he’s made up to keep those Cheerful Cheetah class single mommies at bay. There’s at least two in there quite clearly after him.”
    “Oh, surely not!” I say. I’m shocked and instantly worried. I had no idea Peter was being hit on by a flock of women at preschool.
    “Well, who can blame them? He is gorgeous. Can you imagine jumping in the sack with that every night? Yum! If my husband looked like that, I wouldn’t be packing my bags and heading off to Indonesia every chance I got.”
    Okay, this has gone far enough.
    “I’m sure she doesn’t really want to leave her family behind.”
    “Nah. I know the sort. People live their lives exactly how they want to live them. Anyone who says anything different is just making excuses.”
    Up on the deck I can see Peter has finally got Billy to stand still in front of the cake and has lit all the candles. There’s a pretty, youngish woman standing very close to Peter holding the cake knife and plates. She looks very . . . inserted. Just as soon as everyone’s finished singing, she grabs Billy and kisses him on the top of his head. I have not come home a minute too soon. I muscle forward and manage to get a picture of Billy blowing out the candles. He sees me.
    “Oh, hi, Mom,” he says, as unfazed as if I just came back from the bathroom.
    “Um, hi.”
    Not exactly the ecstatic reunion I was hoping for. The other parents around the birthday ring are looking at me in shocked silence. I get the feeling my party absence has been a firm topic of conversation and now everyone is confused. And worried that I’ve overheard them.
    “Oh, you’re Billy’s mother,” says Pretty-and-Young. Yes, I am, lady, so get your hands off. “We thought you couldn’t make it today.”
    “Yet here I am.” That came out a sneak more hostile than I meant it to. I catch Snub Nose’s eye and half mouth, “Sorry,” though really, if you feel like applying logic to the situation, she’s the one who should be apologizing to me. Peter comes back out the door holding a stack of napkins.
    “Babe!” he says, running across the deck and pulling me into a hug. That’s more like it! “What happened, did you miss your flight?”
    “Something like that,” I say. I instantly see worry in his eyes. He knows. “Let’s get this done first,” I whisper.
    From behind me comes a high screeching sound like someone just stepped on a puppy, and before I can turn around Violet has shimmied up my body and attached herself to my back, making small whimpering noises. I try to loosen her little hands from around my throat and she digs in even harder. She’s crying now. “Mommy, Mommy. You’re not dead! I knew you weren’t dead!” Dead?
    In front of our still-assembled audience Peter has to