Jocelyne and Anjali both walk up to me.
“We were worried about you,” Anjali purrs. “You know this is still a safe space for you, no matter what’s going on, right?”
“Thank you,” I quickly reply to address Anjali before immediately turning back to Martine. “My boys?”
“Oh, those boys!” Martine exclaims. “I love them more than the world, but they can certainly be a handful sometimes, won’t you agree?”
I narrow my eyes and put myself on guard. “What happened?”
“Oh, nothing too alarming, don’t you worry yourself about that, sweetie.” Martine waves me off and keeps wiping the counter down. “In fact, I’m pretty proud of myself for how I handled that.”
“Martine, where are my sons?”
“Cayce is in Jocelyne’s room, and Corey is in mine.” Martine smiles up at me. “They just wouldn’t stop fighting over one particular toy, so I sent them to timeout separately.”
Every instinct in my body screams. The room starts spinning, so I grab hold of the counter to keep myself steady.
My poor boys. They must be going out of their minds right now with anxiety, and no one’s with them to help them co-regulate their big feelings.
I breathe through my nose and shut my eyes. This isn’t the time to escalate things. Maybe Martine doesn’t know how deep their separation anxiety goes. I just need to let her know that thistype of punishment isn’t acceptable, especially if she’s going to be watching over them to help out Karan while I’m not there.
I place both hands against the counter and lean forward, then lift the corners of my mouth to appear as non-threatening as possible. The last thing I want is for Martine to take this personally or hurt her feelings.
“Hey, Martine,” I start, attempting to slow down my staccato heart. From its point of view, I’m fighting for my life. “So, isolating the boys like that really isn’t ideal.”
She stops wiping the counter and looks up. I’ve got her attention.
“They get really anxious when they’re alone, and how are they supposed to deal with their big feelings if they’re locked up alone like that?”
Martine’s brow furrows. “So how, exactly, would you have had me handle it?”
“Well, typically, I’ll see which of the two seems the most upset, and I’ll—”
“You know,” Martine interrupts, her voice increasing in pitch, “here I was, really proud of myself for figuring this out on my own and handling it without a tantrum.”
She throws her rag in the sink and crosses her arms, continuing:
“I really don’t appreciate you coming here and attacking me like that.”
Thump-thump.
Ice fills my veins. I can hardly feel Jocelyne’s comforting hand on my arm. But I can’t lose control of this conversation.
I can’t lose control ofmyself.
I. Am. Not. Her.
Not my mother.
“Martine, I’m not attacking you.” Despite the turmoil storming within me, the words come out relatively calm. “I only want tolet you know how we typically handle this with the twins so that you’re better equipped next time.”
“It’s always gotta be done your way, right?” Martine laughs without humour.
“Okay…”
Deep breath. Steady. Focus.
“I can see that I might have come at this the wrong way, and that you’re feeling attacked. I’m sorry, Martine.”
