His fingers shuffled again, flicking in the direction of the food, encouraging me to make my selections and take them to my plate. “Aren’t you going to try the food?”
Before I could ask him the same—it was for his birthday after all—Nessie was leaning on the table, mouth full, telling me, “Try the pizza, Jolie. It’s delicious!” Nessie’s little voice was calming, an anchor in the storm held in Woodrow’s misty gaze. Something for me to hold onto while his stare, as innocent as it was, battered my already bruised body.
Nessie was smiling at me; she had taken an instant liking to me, as I did her. When she’d learned my name upstairs, she had renamed one of her dolls after me.
I took a slice of pizza from the center of the table, lifting it with a smile for her. I placed it on my plate and added a spoonful of pasta and a small pile of sausages to eat with it.
Woodrow didn’t eat the same. I looked over, and this time, I noticed in front of him, was a bowl of mashed potato that he dug into with a fork.
“Again, I am sorry,” I said once more, not wanting to cause upset. “I’m Jolie, by the way.” I hadn’t told Woodrow my name until now. I’d told no one but Nessie and Wynter.
Like Woodrow, Ville hadn’t asked. Maybe they were waiting for me to feel comfortable enough to introduce myself. I kinda liked that I wasn’t rushed.
“I’d like for us to be friends.” A gentle smile approached my lips. A smile for him—my new friend. And for her, his mother, who I turned to show my gratitude for all she and her family had offered me, in return for such an innocent request. . . friendship.
I felt different being up here in the bedroom of a young child. The gratitude was slipping from my body. The fullness of my stomach made me feel sick, not safe. Grief was rolling back in and churning everything I’d eaten over into one giant wave.
I swallowed hard, keeping it at bay. Keeping the emotional vomit inside.
I stepped deeper into the room, the thick carpet comforting my toes as I walked. The pink color looked pretty against my skin, but the feeling reminded me of home, of the carpet I’d have to creep across to take my dad breakfast in bed, whenever I wanted to surprise him.
“Do you not like it here?” Nessie’s little voice questioned.
The small pajama-clad person moved towards me, sleep in her hazy eyes.
“Momma says change can be hard. She told me not to pester you.”
I had no idea when Wynter told Nessie those words, probably while I was in the bathroom and she was in here, tucking her daughter into the bed she was still meant to be in.
My eyes moved up, trying hard not to allow her to see my tears. “I’m okay.” I put on my big girl pants, and I lied to the child.
“It’s okay if you’re not,” she told me, probably having no idea what it meant not to be okay.
“I’m just. . . I’m missing my dad,” I said, slumpingdown on the lower bunk of a purple bed.
“Where is he?”
“He died recently.”
“I heard you talking to him in the bathroom. At first, I thought you were praying. Momma said not to interrupt.” Nessie took a seat at my side, a blue bear tucked tightly into her chest, covering the design on her nightdress of the same color.
Nessie was right.
I had been talking to him in the bathroom, asking for guidance and support through whatever this situation was.
“It’s better not to keep all your painful thoughts inside,” I told Nessie a truth, one my dad had told me so many times.
“Do you keep a diary? You could write your thoughts in there.”
Before I could tell Nessie that I owned absolutely nothing—even my dignity and pride had been stolen from me—she chirped again, that big Nessie grin on her little face, “I have one you could use!”
She rushed off, taking my hand and pulling me along. My eyes roved over the wonders of her room. A million toys—or, at least, a number somewhere close—lined the walls, all demanding, with their bright colors, to be played with. White voile blew in the gentle night breeze, looking like the hung-up gowns of an angel.
We stopped at a treasure chest—a trove of items Nessie had no time for. Her hand turned the little key already pushed fully into the lock. Her arms pushed up the lid, and she dug through the contents inside as if she was actually looking for treasure.
“I got it!” Nessie raised a book into the air, too quickly for me to catch more than a glimpse of it. She slammed down the lid, and it rattled the room.
Her voice and loud actions brought in another voice, “Okay, ladies, it’s time for bed.” Wynter stood in the doorway, her signature green pajamas hiding most of her body as she rested her tired body against the wooden frame. “It’s been quite the day.”
