“I didn’t. But here’s the thing, sometimes you just need a good cry, you know? Like you just let it out, and you scream at the top of your lungs if you need to, and then you remember all the good things that happened in the same day.”
I heard a sniff and assumed it was Harper before she spoke. “I got the most points in reading today. And I got one hundred percent on my math test.”
Attagirl.
My chest puffed with pride.
“That’s amazing. Sounds like lots of good things.” Violet cleared her throat. “And then something happened that bothered you?”
“Yeah.” My daughter’s voice was just above a whisper.
“Do you want me to go get your dad so you can tell him about it too?”
“No,” Harper said so quickly it felt like a punch to the gut. “I don’t want to tell Daddy what happened.”
Why the fuck not?
Had I done something to make her not trust me?
“Okay. That’s fair. Do you want to tell me? I always feel better when I tell someone why I’m upset.”
“Did you tell anyone why you were upset today?” Harper asked, and there was more sniffing.
“No. But what if we make a deal? You tell me what’s bothering you, and I’ll tell you what’s bothering me?”
I wanted to peek in the room. Were they sitting on the bed together? Were they both sniffing, or was that just Harper?
“I like that,” my little girl said. “I’ll go first because it’s scary going first sometimes, but I’m not scared to tell you.”
“Thanks for being brave,” Violet said. “What happened?”
“Denise Quigley was at aftercare today with me. That’s for kids that stay late because their parents work.”
“Yes. I always went to aftercare,” Violet said. “So what happened there?”
“Denise said that my mama probably left me because my hair is too wavy and I’m short.” I could hear the tremble in my daughter’s voice, and I closed my eyes and tried to breathe slowly. “And she said I dress like a boy sometimes.”
I wanted to storm into her bedroom. This was my daughter, and I should’ve been handling this.
But Violet’s voice was strong and certain as she spoke. “Denise Quigley? Her mom works at the diner, right?”
“Yeah, she works at the Brown Bear Diner.”
“Well, let me tell you, that girl is not nice. I saw her make her brother cry at breakfast once.”
“You did?” my daughter asked, her curiosity impossible to miss.
“Yep. I watched the whole thing. He’s much younger and he was trying to eat his pancakes, and her mom was talking on her cell phone, and I saw Denise pour her glass of juice over the poor little guy’s pancakes.”
“No,” Harper said on a gasp.
“Oh yes,” Violet said. “And I told her mama what she did when she finally got off the phone, and Denise called me a liar and told me to mind my own business. And her mother took Denise’s side. So, I don’t think I’d be listening to that girl. And for the record, you dress so great. I love your style. I mean, look at me, I’m in leggings and a hoodie. We’ve all got our own style.”
“Denise wears glitter shirts, and she has pink tennis shoes,” Harper said, and I made a mental note to take her shopping this weekend.
“Good for her. But anyone who has to make someone else feel bad is just insecure. Trust me, Denise is jealous of you.”
“What’s insector?”
