Page 3 of This Broken Heart
I lean down, sweeping her up in one arm, toothbrush in the other, and deposit her on the counter. She immediately snags the toothpaste and pops it in her mouth.
“No, not for eating, Mavey.” I gently tug the tube away, but she starts wailing, anyway. She’s two and has very clear ideas of what she wants in this world. Someday, she’ll be a boss ass lady. But at the moment? Driving me just a tiny bit nutty.
Meanwhile, Trace has slipped out of my clutches and is sprinting down the hallway.
I sigh, looking down at sweet Maven’s tear-stained face. She has my thick, dark hair, but Ana’s beautiful, sleepy eyes.
Smoothing my hand through her thick hair, it occurs to me that both children have essentially the same hairstyle.
Overgrown.
I should probably do something about that, but I usually just lean on my mom to know when they need their hair cut.
Kissing her salty cheeks, I lift Maven into my arms and chase after Trace.
He’s in Maven’s room, which sets her off yet again. She wiggles out of my grip, and I just barely set her on her feet before she’s diving towards him. “My room!”
They’re playing tug-o-war over a Barbie. It was one of Ana’s from when she was a little girl.
Her mother dropped off a whole box full of Ana’s toys and the two kids treat them like priceless treasure.
“Trace, drop it.” I step forward, dislodging his hand from Barbie’s hair. “This is Maven’s.”
“It’s mine, too.” Trace whines. “Mommy would have let me play with her toy.”
That makes my heart squeeze painfully, because yes, Ana would certainly have let him play with it. If she was still here, maybe she would know what to do, because I sure as hell don’t.
I kneel beside him. Wrapping my hand around the back of his head, I tug him in and plant a kiss on his forehead. “Why do you need Barbie, anyway? You’ve got plenty of toys in your room.”
“I need a girl doll.” His lower lip is wobbling again.
“Why?”
“Because it’s bring your mommy to school day and I don’t have a mommy.”
Oh, shit. My eyes burn and my throat gets hot. I clear it a few times, trying to think of something to say.
Anything. “You do have a mommy, Trace. She’s up in heaven right now, looking down.”
He looks up at me, a skeptical look in his eye. “She’s really there?”
I nod. “Yes. And she loves you very much.”
He balls his hands into fists. “Then why doesn’t she come down?”
I swallow hard, wrapping my hand around his narrow shoulder.
“She would want to, bud.” My voice gets thick, I have to clear my throat again. “She just can’t. I’m so sorry.”
The front door opens, and my mom calls out. “Where is everyone?”
My mom will know how to handle this.
I put the toothbrush in Trace’s hands. “I’m going to talk to gram real quick. You brush your teeth, okay?”
He nods, already recovering. I’m amazed by his resilience sometimes.
He can dig deep and soldier on when most of the time I feel like I’m barely hanging in there.