Life shrinks or expands in proportion to one's courage.
~ Anais Nin
Who knew I would like kids? Well,oneanyway. Olive has come over four times now, and as far as I can tell, she’s nearly as good as a cat. She expects almost nothing from me, doesn't poke her cute little nose in my business, and she's actually kind of fun. Even Walt has taken to her and seems to have an almost dog-like manner when she's around—wanting to play from the moment she arrives until they leave. When it comes to holding a feather stick toy for him, she has a much longer attention span than I do. She also bounces it at just the right ratio of challenging-to-satisfying to keep him interested.
And I shouldn’t admit this because it sounds pathetic, but she's quite good for my ego. She laughs at all my jokes, and yesterday she said I have “beautiful smooth brown hair like a princess.” She also asked me if I had fake eyelashes, which I don’t, obviously, because that sort of maintenance iswaytoo much effort for me. But apparently, I don’t need them anyway because I already look like I have lash extensions. Well, according to a seven-year-old.
So, when Liam showed up this morning and told me he found a new sitter, and that today would be the last day I’d “have her underfoot,” I felt surprisingly disappointed. I should be thrilled since it’s one less person around, but instead, I’m kind of mopey. Not for my sake as much as for Walt’s. He’s going to miss her.
There’s a terrifying bang on the roof and I flinch just as I’m topping up my coffee. I spill some on the counter, then glare up at the ceiling. It’s the third day that Liam and Colton have been working up there, and I have to say, I’m at the point where I’d gladly just throw a tarp over the house permanently to avoid all this racket. It’s been the worst part of the renovation so far because you can’t get away from the sound. Yesterday, I worked on a flowerbed in the farthest corner of the backyard (to avoid falling nails and shingles), but it’s even louder out there.
Finally, it’s three o’clock, and Liam leaves to pick up Olive. I take my coffee and go to my office in case inspiration hits, then busy myself checking my email and seeing how many minutes I can go without glancing at the clock. So far, my longest run is two minutes.
When they finally return, I go outside into the bright sun to greet them. Colton, who has been lying in the shade of a maple tree with his headphones on and his eyes closed, sits up when the truck pulls into the yard. He takes off his headphones and hangs them around his neck.
Olive gets out of the truck, her head hanging down as she pulls her backpack onto her shoulders. Her feet shuffle as she walks toward me.
“Hey, Olive!” I say. “You okay?”
She shrugs and nods a few times without making eye contact. I glance at Liam. He waves his hand as though saying everything’s fine, then lowers his voice. “She’s a little sad that I found a new sitter.”
Oh, well that is just heartbreaking.
“She’s gotten really attached to Walt,” Liam says.
“And Abby!” Olive spits out, using the sharpest tone I’ve heard from her.
I glance at Colton, who looks as though he’s as surprised as I am to see an angry Olive.
I stand by, feeling helpless as she trudges past me and through the open front door. “Hi, Abby.”
Turning to Liam, I wince, but he shakes his head. “She’ll be fine.”
Then he tells Colton he’ll be right out. Once the three of us are inside, Olive lets her backpack slide off her skinny shoulders and drop to the floor.
“Oh, come on now, Olive. Chin up. The Wrights aren’t pouters. We make the best of even the worst situation.”
She gives him a look that is most definitely a preview to her teenage years. “I just don’t understand why I can’t keep coming here.”
“Remember, I told you this would only be for a few days?” Liam asks, sounding slightly exasperated. He gets no response because Walt has chosen this moment to trot over to his daughter and rub against her leg.
Liam continues. “You’re going to love it at the O’Brien’s house. She has two other kids from your school who go there. Plus, Mrs. O’Brien bakes her own bread.”
Olive sinks to her knees in a way that is so dramatic, I almost want to laugh. She rubs her face against Walt’s head. “You mean Mrs. No Brien?”
“What? Who calls her that?”
“Seth in grade four goes to her house after school. He told me Mrs.No Briensays no to everything and that the bread she bakes isn’t for the kids she babysits. It’s for her and her fat husband.”
“Olive! I’m shocked at you,” Liam says, raising his voice.
“What? I’m just repeating what Seth said.”
“Well, don’t repeat things that…aren’t worth repeating.”
Walt has curled up on her lap now, right on the entryway floor, and starts purring, oblivious of the building conflict.
“They don’t even have a cat,” Olive says. “And you can’t get to the lake from their house!”
