your
godmother. She and Jack love you.”
“Yeah, but—” Olivia said again. “What is it,
honey?” Megan asked.
“Do I have a dad, Mom? What if after you—you
know—
what if he comes and wants me?” Olivia
asked.
“Livi, I know that I haven’t told you much
about your father—” Megan started.
“Much? How about anything ,” Olivia
interrupted.
“Okay, that’s fair. I promise you, your
father will not…interrupt your life. That’s a guarantee,” Megan
said.
“But how can you know? What if I want to meet
him, and I can’t because I don’t know who he is?” she asked.
Megan eyed Holly, hoping she would catch on
to the look, “When you are eighteen, Holly will tell you
everything. Until then, I just think this is better. Even though
you think you should know, there’s a lot of confusion that goes
with things like this, a lot of responsibility. You may not be
ready for it. On this, Olivia, you have to trust me.”
Olivia relented with a sigh, not wanting to
upset her mother any more than she already had.
Holly gave Megan a look that said, What? I
don’t even know who he is .
Chapter Four
Megan’s heart filled with pride as she
watched Olivia set out candles and put up decorations, bringing
their little cottage to life for her birthday ritual. Olivia’s
actions were soft, her arms and legs flowed like the delicate
branches of a willow tree, and her fine hair brushed her shoulders
in soft, swift movements. Real life hadn’t yet marred her skin;
innocence and tenderness remained on the surface. From her perch on
the couch, Megan could feel the angst that Olivia was swallowing
and watched as she tucked it behind the lump in her narrow throat.
Megan’s pride was replaced with guilt which simmered just below the
surface of her skin.
“Livi,” she said gently. “I know you want to
be there tonight, but you understand, don’t you? This is something
that I do with them every year. It’s…” she gazed out the window and
watched the trees blow in the gentle breeze, “It’s our thing.”
Olivia rolled her eyes, turned to her mother,
and sighed. She planted her hands on her hips. “I know! okay? I
hear it every year,” her voice rose. “ Your friends, your thing. When do I get to be part of it, Mom? When is it my turn to be part of your world?”
Megan cocked her head and raised an eyebrow,
pursing her lips as if taking a stance. When her mother’s silence
grew too thick to bear, Olivia turned her back and stormed
upstairs. Her words, “That’s what I thought,” wound their way
through the air and stung as they settled roughly in Megan’s
ears.
Megan hunkered down beneath her chenille
afghan and waited for her daughter’s storm to pass.
The chime of the doorbell woke Megan from her
light nap. She climbed off of the couch, adjusted her long cotton
patchwork skirt of pale and muted pastels, and straightened her
watery green crushed cotton top. Just as she reached the door,
Olivia bounded down the stairs, “I’ve got it!” she yelled, barely
missing barreling into her mother, who simply smiled and stepped
aside.
The heavy oak door swung open. Standing on
the front porch in her comfortable black wispy skirt, matching
vest, buttoned only halfway up, her white cotton shirt open to
reveal a hint of cleavage, was Holly. She thrust a large red box
beautifully adorned with a fat gold ribbon toward Megan with a
smile.
Megan reached for the box. “Thank you!”
“Olivia!” Holly exclaimed as she pulled the
young girl into her arms and shot Megan a look that said, Another teenage mood ? “Ready for the big night?”
“Hi, Holly!” Olivia replied, as she embraced
the woman who one day would be her new mother. “Holly,” she
said as she eyed her mother, “can you please talk to Mom about me
coming to the bonfire tonight? Please? ”
Holly patted Olivia’s shoulder as she brushed
past her and reached out to Megan. “Oh Meg,” she said. Her breath
left her
godmother. She and Jack love you.”
“Yeah, but—” Olivia said again. “What is it,
honey?” Megan asked.
“Do I have a dad, Mom? What if after you—you
know—
what if he comes and wants me?” Olivia
asked.
“Livi, I know that I haven’t told you much
about your father—” Megan started.
“Much? How about anything ,” Olivia
interrupted.
“Okay, that’s fair. I promise you, your
father will not…interrupt your life. That’s a guarantee,” Megan
said.
“But how can you know? What if I want to meet
him, and I can’t because I don’t know who he is?” she asked.
Megan eyed Holly, hoping she would catch on
to the look, “When you are eighteen, Holly will tell you
everything. Until then, I just think this is better. Even though
you think you should know, there’s a lot of confusion that goes
with things like this, a lot of responsibility. You may not be
ready for it. On this, Olivia, you have to trust me.”
Olivia relented with a sigh, not wanting to
upset her mother any more than she already had.
Holly gave Megan a look that said, What? I
don’t even know who he is .
Chapter Four
Megan’s heart filled with pride as she
watched Olivia set out candles and put up decorations, bringing
their little cottage to life for her birthday ritual. Olivia’s
actions were soft, her arms and legs flowed like the delicate
branches of a willow tree, and her fine hair brushed her shoulders
in soft, swift movements. Real life hadn’t yet marred her skin;
innocence and tenderness remained on the surface. From her perch on
the couch, Megan could feel the angst that Olivia was swallowing
and watched as she tucked it behind the lump in her narrow throat.
Megan’s pride was replaced with guilt which simmered just below the
surface of her skin.
“Livi,” she said gently. “I know you want to
be there tonight, but you understand, don’t you? This is something
that I do with them every year. It’s…” she gazed out the window and
watched the trees blow in the gentle breeze, “It’s our thing.”
Olivia rolled her eyes, turned to her mother,
and sighed. She planted her hands on her hips. “I know! okay? I
hear it every year,” her voice rose. “ Your friends, your thing. When do I get to be part of it, Mom? When is it my turn to be part of your world?”
Megan cocked her head and raised an eyebrow,
pursing her lips as if taking a stance. When her mother’s silence
grew too thick to bear, Olivia turned her back and stormed
upstairs. Her words, “That’s what I thought,” wound their way
through the air and stung as they settled roughly in Megan’s
ears.
Megan hunkered down beneath her chenille
afghan and waited for her daughter’s storm to pass.
The chime of the doorbell woke Megan from her
light nap. She climbed off of the couch, adjusted her long cotton
patchwork skirt of pale and muted pastels, and straightened her
watery green crushed cotton top. Just as she reached the door,
Olivia bounded down the stairs, “I’ve got it!” she yelled, barely
missing barreling into her mother, who simply smiled and stepped
aside.
The heavy oak door swung open. Standing on
the front porch in her comfortable black wispy skirt, matching
vest, buttoned only halfway up, her white cotton shirt open to
reveal a hint of cleavage, was Holly. She thrust a large red box
beautifully adorned with a fat gold ribbon toward Megan with a
smile.
Megan reached for the box. “Thank you!”
“Olivia!” Holly exclaimed as she pulled the
young girl into her arms and shot Megan a look that said, Another teenage mood ? “Ready for the big night?”
“Hi, Holly!” Olivia replied, as she embraced
the woman who one day would be her new mother. “Holly,” she
said as she eyed her mother, “can you please talk to Mom about me
coming to the bonfire tonight? Please? ”
Holly patted Olivia’s shoulder as she brushed
past her and reached out to Megan. “Oh Meg,” she said. Her breath
left her
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