Flower Girl | h.s.

52.

tw: needles & medical intervention

Harry

"Do you want peanut butter or jam on your toast?"

The words I speak get lost in the cluttering chaos of the room. There are too many people to focus on. In Brooks' case, it's almost like talking to a brick wall.

"Brooks?" I question, eyeing him a bit as he continues his fixation on what he's watching. I hold onto the edge of the counter as I let my head look down at him to try to meet eye contact.

My question goes completely through Brooks' ears once again, as he focused on the iPad in front of him. It hadn't been ideal to keep him occupied like that, but recently, we'd been busy with trying to get a lot worked out.

Daisy suggested that the iPad could have a lot of enrichment activities that may help him stay occupied, but something about me missed the small whines and clinging to me whenever he was asking for something.

It was an odd feeling to miss that.

The end of the school year had approached quite quickly—this was the last full week of the year. It meant that there wasn't a lot of structure for the kids, early dismissals, and a lot of parties that included having to send in food and money. There was the field days and the sport parties for the end of the year celebrations that I had to remember, and wasn't doing a very good job of it.

Lottie was finishing her freshman year of high school and Brooks was finishing first grade. It felt like time was just pushing forward at an extremely fast rate; this time last year, we were moving into this house with a fresh start.

It was the first week of June, and a lot had happened within the past month.

I would begin my new job on Wednesday for orientation, which means that I'm beginning a new chapter of my life—pun intended.

The publishing house's HR has been great to get everything set up and started, especially when paperwork and tax forms are so exhilarating, but I'm quite nervous about the way that I'm inexperienced.

Daisy continues to reassure me, telling me that they hired me for a reason. It's a huge task for my mind to handle, but I'm trying my best to find the medium or excitement and worry.

It was going to be a lot to get used to, but I was excited for what was to come and what I could learn from the experiences. I'd be at the very bottom of the barrel, which meant that I'm sure my ideas wouldn't be the best and I wouldn't know how to do a lot.

The unknown scared me more than I liked to admit.

My focus is pulled back to Brooks as he whines– my smile creeping up at his needs.

"I want cereal," Brooks looks up at me finally, a small pout on his lips, before I'm staring at the plain, toasted bread on the plate that I'd already made for him.

"Baby, we don't have any milk," Daisy answers for me, cutting the tops off of strawberries next to me. Phoebe pops one in her mouth as she walks around the corner of the kitchen to get started on her own breakfast.

I look at Brooks, who looks at Daisy and then back to me before he huffs out in a heavy defeat, "What about waffles, Harry?"

I shift on my feet as I look at him with a bit of a discouraged look, "C'mon, dude, this is already made, and we only have a few minutes before we have to go."

"I'm making waffles, I'll pop some in for you, Bee." Phoebe says instead, as she stands on the other side of the countertop, behind Daisy where the toaster sits.