The Babysitter

            As the cab turned the corner onto my street, the rock in my gut tightened even further. Familiar landmarks began whizzing by that, despite the nostalgia that surfaced, did nothing to alleviate my dread. The Johnson’s driveway where I learned to ride my bike. The hill I tumbled down before splitting my chin open. The neighborhood pool I spent countless hours baking in the sun (now much to my chagrin). Even the fence I scrambled over running from the cops during my first house party. Memories flitted by like an old movie reel, and I would have given anything to be back in the blissfully unaware days of my childhood.

            I glanced down at my expensive watch – right on time, it replied mockingly. My phone rang then, sharp in the stale air of the cab. I glanced at the caller ID and returned the phone into my purse, unanswered. Fuck, no, I thought to myself. The next three days were going to be hell enough.

            The cab rolled to a stop in front of my house, and the driver whistled.

            “Your family doesn’t mess around when it comes to Christmas decorations, huh?”

            I snorted. “You could say that.”

            The house was elaborately covered with lights and ornaments, and not the tacky variety, either. My mother spared no expense when it came to showing up the neighbors. If that wasn’t ostentatious enough, our house was massive. The electricity bill alone for such endeavor would make any person wince.

            I trudged out of the car and collected my bags. The walkway stretched out before me. I could see movement through the windows and before I could gather my wits, the door swung open.

            “You’re here!” My mother cooed, sweeping down the front stairs and gathering me in her arms, aware of the people watching through the window. She pulled back and her smooth brow furrowed.

            “But where’s Adam?” She looked behind me as if I was sheltering my 6’2, golf-pro husband behind my 5’4 frame.

            I was expecting this. I ran through the countless scenarios I had coached myself on during the plane ride over. He got stuck at work. His grandmother died. He has a deadly parasite and might die. Anything to cover the gaping hole of his absence to get me through the Holiday weekend unscathed. But all that came out of my mouth was the ugly, goddamned truth.

            “He left me for the babysitter.”

            Shock spread across her face, and her brows furrowed even further. “But you don’t have any kids,” she said.

            “I fucking know that, mother. He left me for the dog babysitter. The pet sitter. The six-foot, perky-breasted, model that walks our dog every day. Whatever the fuck you want to call her!”

            By now my voice had risen to a dangerous decibel, while horrifyingly my eyes started welling up with tears.

            My mother stood dumbfounded on the brick.

            “Sabrina, darling, calm down,” she said, glancing nervously behind her. “I’m sure there’s some sort of mistake. Just come inside, but for God’s sake, don’t mention this to anyone.” She grabbed my purse in a half-hearted attempt to help me inside. I followed the click-clack of her heels up the path and braced myself for the viper pit waiting inside.