Page 80 of A Little Twist
“I’m chopping to be funny.”
“Yes, but you’re not a stuffed animal. When she chops it feels like Piglet. When you chop, it’s like a real hit.”
Holding hands, we walk to the bed, and she climbs in, cuddling her stuffed animal under her arm. “So I can chop with Piglet’s arm?”
“No…” I lean forward to touch my nose to hers, before scooting in beside her with a book. “We talked about this. Chopping is only for Miss Piggy. Not you.”
Piglet is snuggled to her chest as I start readingMadeline, and tonight we have Platy the Platypus in bed with us as well. I’m halfway through the story when I notice her fingernail curling around the side of Platy’s eye and picking.
I continue reading, but by the time I say “The End,” she’s not asleep, and Platy is almost blind.
I tap her finger. “What’s going on here?”
She looks down, and her mouth pulls down at the corners. “I’m sorry.”
“Why are you picking at Platy?” Her little shoulders shrug, and I put my arm around her. “Is something else on your mind besides Miss Piggy?”
She shakes her head no, but it’s pretty obvious she’s not telling me everything. What I don’t know is why. I don’t think Jessica is the cause of her anxiety. I’m pretty sure she doesn’t know who she is.
One thing weighs on my mind, and I figure we’d better address it before things get awkward. “Remember how sometimes you call me Mama Cass?”
Her little chin moves up and down, and I shift in the bed to face her, tracing a red curl behind her ear. “Maybe you shouldn’t call me that right now.”
Round eyes meet mine, and a knot twists painfully in my throat. “Because I’m a bad girl?”
“No!” I reach out to smooth her hair. “You’re a very good girl! This has nothing to do with anything like that.”
She’s quiet a moment, then her voice is small. “Because you don’t want to have a little girl?”
Scooting further into the bed, I pull her closer, tracing my fingers along her back. I hate her feeling like I always did, likewhy would anyone want me if my own mother didn’t?
“I would love to have a little girl, and if I did, I’d want you to be that little girl. I’m only worried… What if your real mom comes back?”
More silence, and I worry I might’ve let the cat out of the bag. Instead, she says, “I don’t think my mom is ever coming back. She’s in Africa.”
Chewing my lip, I’m afraid to venture much farther down this road. “Sometimes people surprise you.”
Her little finger moves, and I glance down to see she’s picking at Platy’s eye again. Guilt is a heavy weight in my stomach as I watch her.
I reach over and close my hand over hers. “You’re still my favorite home-run hitter, and you can still talk to me when you need to. Nothing has to change.”
She nods again, but it doesn’t make me feel better. I feel like her heart’s broken now, too, and I hate this whole situation.
“I love you, P.” My fingers trace along her back.
“I love you, Mama…” Her breath catches, and she hesitates, finishing with, “MC.”
“That’s good.” I kiss her head. “Let’s sing our bedtime song.”
We’re back to the first night, and I hum my favorite lullaby, “Castle on a Cloud” fromLes Mis. At first her brow remains furrowed, but as I sing it again slower, she starts to lose her battle with sleep. The little line in her forehead relaxes, and her breathing evens.
I don’t sing it again, but I continue tracing my fingernails lightly along her back with a pain in my chest until I’m sure she’s asleep. Then I kiss her once more, softly on the forehead, and carefully stand, easing out of the room.
Pausing at the door, I watch her sleep, chewing on the edge of my thumbnail. I hated correcting her, even if I didn’t really like that nickname. Still, I didn’t want to create any problems for her with Jessica if she’s really here to stay.
Tiptoeing downstairs, I hesitate on the landing when I hear voices in the kitchen speaking low.
“Perhaps we should’ve discussed it more.” Jessica’s back is to me.