Author's Note:
Sierra makes being a mom look flawlessly simple, but it usually takes 10-20 pictures to capture that effortless look. Behind the scenes, things in her Insta-worthy life aren't as easy as they seem. When the power goes out, it's up to Sierra and her husband Drew to keep their three boys calm.
This story is part of the When The Lights Go Out universe. These stories do not need to be read in any particular order; they all revolve around the same event and have some connections, but are stand alone pieces. You can find a list of included stories in my bio.
**
"Mommy, can we
please
just eat the ice cream?"
"Give me one more great big smile and then you can dig in, okay?" I said, taking a step back from the table.
Grayson sighed and plastered a smile on his face.
"Come on, Aiden, you too," I said.
The photo wasn't framed quite right. As Aiden smiled, I took one more step back, crashed into someone, and yelped as I clicked the shutter button on my phone. The moment I did, Grayson cringed, Aiden's eyes widened, and Jack—only two, so not quite as understanding of the picture-perfect moment as my other boys were—shoved his face into the cone of soft serve.
I was sure the boys thought I would be upset that I didn't get the picture. The truth was that I didn't have the capacity to mourn the loss of my Insta-worthy photo-op. I was too busy being distracted by the arm that slid along my lower back and the hand that cupped my ass. Without even looking, I knew who I had crashed into.
"Let go of me," I said icily.
Don Rivers, the town slimeball, feigned offense. "I was just keeping you from falling, Sierra."
His hand did not leave my ass.
"You're groping me," I hissed. "If you don't think I'll cause a scene right here, right now—"
Don pulled his hand away and raised his arms defensively. "I was just making sure a nice lady who bumped into me didn't fall. I was not
groping
you. You're the one who ran into me."
"You touched my—" I lowered my voice, though I knew my boys could still hear me "—ass."
"Oh, it was just a little bump, it wasn't like—"
"My daddy says that the good guys don't touch girls without their permission," Grayson said loudly. "He says that only the supervillains do something so gross. Are you a good guy, Mr. Rivers?"
Don's mouth fell open. I managed to keep mine shut, though I could feel eyes on me. There was only one ice cream shop in town, and on that unseasonably hot April day, The Hokey Pokey Ice Cream Parlour was packed. Praying that Alice McGrady wasn't anywhere nearby, I managed to maintain my composure.
"Wow, great thanks I get for helping a lady out," Don finally said, glaring at my son.
"Yes, you get a child telling you that you shouldn't touch people inappropriately even if you say you're helping them," I said.
"Leave her alone, Don."
I looked over to see the tall, skinny man who worked at the gas station next door standing in line, glaring at Don. He had curly hair and thick eyebrows, and his arms were folded across his chest.
"What was that, Austin?" Don said, raising his eyebrows. "You got a problem, kid?"
"Oh, shut up," said Frank DeBlanco.
He was sitting at a nearby table with his daughter... Kate. Katie? Maybe it was Katrina. I should have known her name. She was a year older than Grayson, but they'd been in the school production of
Peter Pan
together and she had played Tinkerbell and Grayson had been a Lost Boy... oh, what the hell was her name, and more importantly, why did I think it mattered so much in that moment?
Don looked from Frank back to Austin, then threw up his hands. "You try to do a nice thing for someone..."
I let out a shallow breath as he began to slink away and smiled gratefully at Frank and Austin, then returned to the table with my boys.
"Sorry, Mom," Grayson said quietly as I sat across from him.
I looked at him, confused.
"For what?"
Grayson glanced at his brothers guiltily. "That we didn't get the picture, and that I made everyone stare at us."
I wished later that I could say I realized I'd been going too far. I wished the fact that my oldest son felt bad for standing up to a bully like Don Rivers, a man forty-some years older than him, was what made me see the effect I was having on my family. I wished I'd figured out how much damage I was doing by trying to have a Pinterest-perfect life, by not letting my boys just eat the ice cream and feeling joy at their joy, rather than trying to capture a picture of their fake-joy.
I didn't, though, not at that moment.
I wasn't a complete monster; I recognized the magnitude of what Grayson had done, and my heart was swollen with pride as he parroted the lessons my husband, Drew, and I had taught him. I reached across the table and squeezed his hand.
"We'll get a picture another time," I said. "A perfect excuse for more ice cream, right?"
He nodded.
"And what you did was very brave," I added quietly. "Proud of you."
Grayson smiled but didn't say anything, just dug into his ice cream and tried to catch up with his brothers, who were already nearly done. I watched them enjoy the treat through the screen of my phone, hoping one of the photos I snapped would be worth posting on my feed, and tried to shake off the uneasy feeling Don had given me.
When the three of them finished devouring their ice cream, Grayson helped Aiden clean up, but Jack's vanilla-coated face needed more attention than his brother could provide. I straightened my dress and made sure my straw hat was tilted at the right angle before I got up to grab napkins from the counter.
Frank DeBlanco was behind me when I turned to go back to my table. Over his shoulder, I could see Grayson trying to stop Jack from smooshing ice cream between his fingers.
"You all right, Sierra?" Frank asked.
I nodded, smiling a practiced smile at him. "I am. Thank you for your help, Frank."
"You wanna... I dunno, report him or something?" Frank asked. "I saw him... I know it wasn't an accident."
My smile tightened.
"I think it becomes a case of 'he said, she said,'" I replied. "I appreciate the offer, but I think I'll just, um... you know. Forget about it. Excuse me, my son is about to become part soft-serve if I don't get him cleaned up right away."
I'm sure Frank thought I was being stupid by not reporting Don for groping me, but Frank didn't understand. Most men didn't. Reporting Don would require me going to the police station, submitting myself to a ton of embarrassing questions, and having some officer look at me skeptically at the end of it as he asked if I was
sure
Don meant to grab me on purpose. It would have to wait until Monday, and I'd have to get a babysitter for Jack, since it would have to be during business hours, and for what? For a report that would get filed away at best and never submitted at worst?
