by Amanda Cuff
“Wow, Chase. I don’t know what to say. How is Emily?” Her eyes are wet, full of questions and fears that she still seems to be working through.
“She’s handling it well, better than I think anyone else in her shoes would be. Her and Addison have already become…friendly. You know how Emily is.”
My mother nods, ever so slightly, causing a few of the tears to drop down her cheeks as her bottom lip shakes.
I mutter an expletive, standing to bring her in for a hug. She’s so upset she doesn’t even bother to chastise me for cursing. Still sitting, her head barely reaches my chest, but I squeeze her to me as much as possible with the angle I have.
“It’s okay, Mom. I promise.”
This is why I wanted to talk to her directly rather than have my father tell her the news. My mom—not unlike most mothers—takes worrying to a whole new level. I thought if I was here to answer what I’m sure would be her many questions, I could help her feel better about the situation.
After a few moments of tears, the initial shock seems to wear off and my mom pulls back from my arms, patting her face dry. The sadness on her face has been replaced with a scowl and she shakes her fist at me like she’s a little old lady and I’m the would-be mugger who dared attack her in the subway.
Then, she walks around the island to grab the tissue box. “Damn it, Chase! How the hell did this happen? Didn’t I raise you better than this?”
I don’t even need a whole hand to count how many times I remember hearing my mom curse. The first was during a fight with my dad. It sticks out in my memory because they didn’t fight often, at least not in front of me, and never do I remember a fight as big as that one. I couldn’t even tell you what it was about, but I can tell you the sentence that has played over in my mind since.
“You’re an asshole, Rudy Prescott!”
It’s true. Sometimes, my dad can be a real asshole, but it’s never out of malice. He’s just a guy that likes to make people laugh and sometimes, he crosses the line in order to do so.
When I’d first brought up the incident months later, my mother’s cheeks had reddened, and she distracted me with the promise of extra dessert.
The next time she cursed was when she cut her finger with a fancy, new kitchen knife she had just gotten for Christmas. One minute, she was cheering that her new knife cut like a dream and the next, she was screaming at me to call nine-one-one, her finger hanging by a thread. Or a tendon. I just barely managed to make the call before passing out and hitting my head on the kitchen table.
We both earned an ambulance ride that afternoon.
And the third time is now.
I’m sure she hasn’t forgotten the last two times and she definitely won’t forget this one either.
“Can I explain, please?” I ask.
She pats her face one last time and drops back down onto her stool. She crosses her arms over her chest and mutters something I don’t quite catch, but frankly, I’m glad. The look on her face tells me she means business. “Five minutes, Chase William Prescott.”
Years of practice make it possible for me to hold back my eyeroll while I settle back into my seat. I don’t hold anything back, telling her mine and Addison’s story from start to finish.
Okay, I do hold back the X-rated scenes, but otherwise, I pour my heart out to her.
My parents have always taken the words loving and supportive to the extreme. I’ve always known I could tell them anything or come to them for advice on any topic. And within reason, they could put aside our parent/child relationship enough to steer me in the right direction.
Obviously, I’ve made some decisions over the years that many parents wouldn’t agree with. Namely, my initial decision to buy a home to move Emily and Willow into, and then, when we got married. Luckily for me, my parents have always seen through the bullshit of societal expectations and trusted that they taught me to make the best decisions for myself and those I love; I hope this situation will be no different.
“Oh dear,” is all my mother manages once I’ve updated her on the past several days. Her eyes are a little less hard and disappointed now, and back to pained; I’m not sure which look is worse. “I understand your predicament, but my heart hurts for Emily. And Addison, too.”
“I know, Mom. Me too,” I agree quietly. “I promise, Emily is doing well. There’s still a lot that each one of us needs to work through, but we’ll get there. We’re all adults and we’re going to get through this. Together.”
“And Willow?” she asks.
I drop my eyes, feeling shame for the first time in our conversation. Trying to explain such an adult situation to a ten-year-old has been a challenge, but I know we’re doing the right thing by giving her the time to work through her own feelings.
Or at least, I hope we are.
✽✽✽
On my way home, I stopped at the grocery store to get the fixings for fajitas. Addison mentioned last night that she had been craving them and Willow can throw down on some Mexican, so I thought it might be a nice surprise for them both. I know very little about women other than food being the key to their hearts, so surely, the pair could bond over some chips and queso.
I’d rushed through the aisles in a hurry to get home to my girls. Now, I load my arms up with grocery sacks—because only quitters take more than one trip—and head inside. Willow must have seen me pull up, because she’s already opening the door and helping me inside.
“Did you get me anything?” she asks sweetly.
“Maybe.” I bump her arm with a handful of groceries and follow her into the kitchen to see Emily and Addison coming in from the living room. The two are grinning and when they see me, they exchange a look before bursting into laughter.
I’m not even bothered that they seem to be making fun of me because I’m too focused on the way my chest squeezes when I see Addison for the first time all day. I love coming home to Emily and Willow, but it’s a different feeling knowing Addison’s waiting for me too.
Besides, I don’t mind being the glue that brings those two together. It’s only Addison’s second night in the house, and I’d say things aren’t going too bad.
After I’d shown Addison to her room, she took her time unpacking while Willow and I talked. During the first hour—after she came out of hiding—we tiptoed around conversation awkwardly.
It wasn’t until Emily joined us that everything kind of fell into place. Willow perked up and relaxed a little more and, surprisingly, so did Addison. They talked about Willow starting school in a few days and some of the things the two of them could do while Willow was gone.
I sat back most of the night, feeling like butting in would do more harm than good. If everyone was getting along, I wasn’t going to ruin it with my big, fat mouth.
“Did you get enough?” Emily asks now, putting away the groceries that Willow’s tearing out of the sacks in search of her chocolate.
When she finds it, she jumps up and down in excitement and thanks me with a big hug before running out of the room.
I shrug, grabbing the three jars of salsa and taking them to the pantry. “Oh, is that what you two were laughing about?”
Emily has always complained about my inability to go grocery shopping without buying the whole store. Even if I go in with her well-planned list, I end up walking out with things she never intended for me to buy, and possibly without things we actually needed. At least I never forget Willow’s chocolate.
“In my defense, I had no idea what Addison liked, so I got plenty of options.” I walk over to the counter and rifle through the last bag, pulling out two bouquets of cheap grocery store flowers. The first is a handful of sunflowers that I promptly place in Emily’s hands along with a kiss to the top of her head. “You’re lucky I love you, Twilight Sparkle.”
Her cheeks pink at the nickname while I laugh my way over to Addison. Her bouquet was much harder to pick out, especially since I’ve gotten the same old sunflowers for Emily for the past ten years.
I probably stood in front of the flower section for a good twenty minutes, judging and comparing until finally deciding on the group of brightly colored daisies. At the time, I felt confident in my decision, but now that I’m standing in front of her, I’m not so sure.
“These are for you,” I say quietly, reluctant to hand them over.
Maybe I should have gotten the roses.
Or stopped at an actual flower shop and gotten her something fancier.
I’m sure even her piece-of-shit ex could manage to pull this off and here I am, trying to win her over with a five-dollar bouquet.
“Thank you.” She reaches out to grab them, her soft fingers touching mine.
When her eyes find the floor, I want to kick myself. She probably hates them and doesn’t know how to tell me.
“I’ve never gotten flowers before,” she says. A small smile plays on her lips and when she looks back up, it grows wide on her face. “They’re really beautiful.”
Her tongue swipes out across her lips, drawing my gaze down to them and reminding me how sweet they tasted against my own. Our hands are still locked on the bouquet and when I run my fingers down to her wrist, my thumb settles on her pulse. I press into it, enjoying the feel of it fluttering against me. Her lips part and right before I can I pull her closer, Emily makes a sound beside us.
“Oh, um, don’t mind me. I was just going to get these in a vase.” She snatches the flowers from both our hands, face beet-red. “So awkward,” she groans, hurrying back over to the sink.
Addison clears her throat and takes a step back, her hand flying to her cheek. “Wow, it’s really warm in here. I…uh, I’m going to go get some fresh air.”
She scurries away, thick hips and ponytail swaying with each step. Even after she’s out of the room, I stand there, playing back what just happened.
Emily walks up beside me, meeting my scowl with a sly grin. “If you’re going to win her over, you’re going to have to try a lot harder than some cheap flowers,” she whispers teasingly.
“Your commentary is unnecessary,” I say, grabbing her by the shoulders and pushing her from the room. “Now get out of my kitchen.”
12
Addison
With the house empty of all its occupants, the silence echoes against the walls.
It was shocking to see the spectacle of the morning, everyone’s excitement at Willow starting another year of school. Back home, no one ever talked about elaborate breakfasts, balloons and presents, or any of the fanfare that Willow’s family put on for her.
So, I drank my juice and ate my breakfast, the whole time wondering if all the pomp was an every-year occurrence or if the group was trying to make the most of Emily’s last year to see her off. Either way, the joy in the air felt magical. Willow seemed to enjoy the extra attention and everyone else enjoyed doling it out. But underneath the smiles and nonstop chatter was a sadness no one spoke of. Twinkling eyes kept flashing dull and they all tried a little too hard to fill the uncomfortable lulls in conversation.
I’m not sure what Chase had said to his parents about my presence. They tried not to make a big deal about me being there, I’ll give them that, but I couldn’t help but notice how often their curious eyes landed on me.
When everyone was packing up to leave, Chase invited me to go to the school with him and Emily, but I could tell this was something they needed to do on their own, whether they even knew that or not.
Now, I look around the room and feel every inch of its emptiness. It’s hard to be an outsider in such a loving family. This morning, I could pretend I was a part of it all. I laughed alongside them, like I was in on their jokes, but on the inside, I knew I didn’t belong. I was just an extra body, being welcomed out of circumstance. I smiled when it was expected of me, was quiet when it felt appropriate, but I knew most of them would have been happier if I weren’t there.
Taking a deep breath, I rise from the kitchen table, stretching my limbs and dismissing my pity. The truth hurt, and it felt good to acknowledge that hurt, but it wasn’t going to get me anywhere.
I promised Emily I wouldn’t clean up from the morning, but I can’t very well leave it for her to deal with when she gets home. She did a good job hiding it for Willow, but I could see the exhaustion on her face this morning. The trip to school would be enough for her to tackle today.
Besides, I’m starting to get restless.
The past few days, I’ve been adjusting to all the changes coming my way, but I haven’t had much to do. Chase has only been working a few hours a day and Emily has been more than friendly and entertaining, but I can tell it’s starting to wear her down.
Rushing around, I collect the clothes and accessories Willow’s grandparents brought her and take them up to her room. I sit them down nicely on her bed, not wanting to invade her space by attempting to put them away.
When I make it back to the kitchen, I load the dishwasher and clean off the counters. It feels good to do something useful. Chase and Emily have been treating me like a guest and I haven’t wanted to step on any toes, but I can’t continue to just lounge around all day. I make a mental note to talk to Emily about how I can be more helpful to her before I lose my mind.
I clean until the kitchen sparkles, then I sit down at the table with a glass of water. The cleaning has made me sore but rubbing the stretching muscles of my stomach isn’t easing the ache, so I lie down on the couch with my Kindle to rest for a few minutes. Engrossed in my book, the minutes tick by, my muscles relaxing and my eyelids growing heavier. I give it my best effort but sleep finally takes me under.
✽✽✽
The first time I met Willow, I was captivated by her bubbly personality, but the lively girl I’ve come to know is missing from the one sitting in front of me now. Instead, her eyes are cast down to the kitchen floor, her chin perched on top of her fist, a deep frown plastered on her face.
It doesn’t look like the first day of school went well.
With Willow back in school, Chase has returned to work full-time and Emily still isn’t up from her afternoon nap, so I guess that leaves me to try to figure out what’s going on in Willow’s world.
I have to admit, I’m nervous when I sit down across from her. As a peace offering, I pop open a can of root beer and slide it across the table to her.
“Hey, Willow. What’s up?” I ask tentatively.
She doesn’t respond right away but at least acknowledges me by moving her eyes to mine and thanking me for the drink.
“How was school?”
She drops her elbow from the table and sighs. “Not very good.” Then, she takes a few long gulps of her soda. She tips it so far back and drinks for so long that she has a slight root beer mustache when she pulls away.
“What happened?”
She hesitates to answer, eyeing me cautiously like she’s trying to decide if I can be trusted. “I don’t really want to talk about it.”
“Okay, I understand.” I drum my fingers on the table for a second, thinking through my next move. “How can we cheer you up?”
She only shrugs.
“Do you want to go get ice cream?”
She shakes her head.
Wow, this is harder than I thought.
“Well, what do you like to do? Maybe we can do that,” I tell her.
She takes another swig of root beer and contemplates my question, this time swiping her tongue up over her top lip to wipe it clean. “I like to cook, I guess.”
“Cook! Okay.” I pause, thinking about what I can do with that. Frankly, not much.
My mother didn’t get around to teaching me how to cook and I’m not even sure my father could turn on an oven. For as long as I could remember, he ordered from a food service company that packaged fresh meals and had them delivered to our door every day.
“Well, I’m not a very good cook,” I tell her honestly.
She narrows her eyes a bit, then shrugs her little shoulders up to her ears. “That’s okay, my mom i
sn’t either. Dad does all the cooking. He says cooking is Mom’s own personal version of H-E-L-L. I think mine is homework.”
I laugh, momentarily considering telling her not to say hell even if it’s only spelled out and whispered, but me telling her what to do is probably the last thing she needs or wants. “I think mine is being stuck in crowds.”
“Crowds?” Willow frowns like she doesn’t quite understand. “Why? You don’t like being around people?”
“Not a lot of them anyway. When I’m in the middle of a crowd, I feel like everyone is staring at me. It makes me feel self-conscious.” It feels odd being this open with a girl less than half my age, but it’s also kind of nice.
“Well, we don’t really have crowds in Gamble Springs,” she says decidedly.
“No, you really don’t.” I laugh, hoping I can keep the momentum of our turning conversation. “Anyway, like I said, I’m not a chef by any means, but I do know how to make peanut butter cookies.”
I pause and she turns her head toward me, raising one eyebrow up in question. If I thought she knew who The Rock was, I’d think she stole his signature look, but I have a feeling this expression is all Willow.
“Do you like cookies?” I ask her. After saying no to ice cream, who knows what other childhood sacrilege she’s going to commit?
“Well, yeah.” One corner of her mouth lifts just slightly, but her eyes are at least starting to brighten.
“Let’s get started then!”
We both hop up, breezing around the kitchen in a frenzy to get started. Since I haven’t yet memorized where everything is in the cabinets, she gathers the kitchen supplies while I head to the pantry for the dry ingredients.
I’m surprised at how excited I am. It’s been years since I’ve made my mother’s recipe and it’s fun to get to share that with another little girl. I give Willow step-by-step instructions, which she executes flawlessly. She obviously knows her way around the kitchen.