“Are you big enough to get yourself dressed?” I asked when I broke our hug.
“Aye-aye, Momma!” He whipped off an impressive salute, then held his hand out for a high-five, that I enthusiastically met.
“Okay, kiddo. You get dressed while mommy goes and makes the house pretty for your party. You come down when you’re ready, but no touching the party stuff, okay? We want it to stay pretty for your friends. Got it?”
He saluted again, and I left him to it, figuring I could send Stuart or Allie up if our little guy took too long.
“Love you, baby.”
“I love you, too, Momma.”
With those wonderful words lingering in the air, I headed down the stairs to find Allie pouring pretzels and Goldfish crackers into bowls for the guests. “What else should I do?” she asked.
I looked around, assessing what was left. Over the last few days, I'd cleaned the place to within an inch of its life. At this point, you could eat off our floor. And I dared anyone to find even a single dust bunny, at least downstairs.
I’d even pulled the stove out and cleaned behind it, revealing a dark, and grease-filled environment even more terrifying than some demonic lairs. Trust me on that.
In addition to all the cleaning, I’d covered the entire downstairs in an explosion of party decorations. I’m sure Laura—or any of my Mom Friends—could have done it with more finesse, but the end result was an eye-splitting array of color and cartoons that should make any toddler giddy.
Slowly, I turned in a circle. I still needed to put out the Nemo-themed cups, plates, and table cloth. Laura was bringing the cake. I had a plethora of juice boxes.
In other words, it was miraculously all coming together.
The kids’ goodie bags were still on the list, and so I put Allie on that task. While she filled Pixar-themed bags with candy, small coloring books, and silly toys, I put up a few more streamers and fish-themed window clings on the glass squares of our French doors.
Then I looked back at the room. On the whole, I was impressed. I was also exhausted. Truth be told, I’d probably put more work into this than necessary for our relatively small guest list. Just the kids from Timmy’s play group, the children of the moms in my self-defense class, and the kids who played in the day care during Mass rather than risk disrupting the service. (A life-saving feature of the Cathedral that, to my shock, was not offered at every cathedral around the globe.)
Bottom line, this would be a birthday party with plenty of time for the adults to mingle—with Mimosas, too!—and very few organized activities for the kids. It was really about the fun.
The only thing specific I had planned was to sing Happy Birthday and eat cake at three, since Timmy was turning three. Otherwise, I was giving the kids free rein. They had options, sure—a station to throw beanbags, a sand box, and lots of outdoor trucks and balls—but mostly I wanted them to be kids, something that I’m sure would shock my arch-nemesis, Marissa, who scheduled every event with precision timing.
All in all, I expected a low-key afternoon. Honestly, I should know better than to tempt Fate.
Once the decorations were complete and Allie had filled all the bags and put them out of reach of little hands, I called her into the kitchen. “So?” I asked as I spread the tablecloth and put out the paper plates and utensils. “When are you going to tell me?”
She blinked at me, apparently not having a clue what I was talking about.
“Mindy? You two talked at the theater. It’s been two days and you haven’t said a thing.”
Granted, I’d been crazy busy yesterday getting ready for the party and handling mansion-related tasks. But I also hadn’t wanted to push her.
Now, though…
Well, whether it was the right thing to do or not, I couldn't take it anymore. My curiosity was killing me. I assumed the girls were back on track considering the hugging and squealing that had happened on that stage, but I desperately wanted confirmation.
“It's all good, Mom,” Allie said.
“Really?”
She sighed. “I told her it was all on me. That I’d been acting like a bitch.” She cast her eyes down to the table, then back up at me with a shrug.
I forced myself not to comment on the language and just said, “Go on.”
“I told her I hadn’t meant to cut her out, and it wasn’t about Jared. Not really.” She drew in a breath. “And then I told her about the demon stuff inside me, and the golden light in Rome. And how we think that’s why I’m faster now. Stronger.” She shrugged again. “She already knew what happened to Daddy, so she gets it. And so I told her all of it. What had been in my head, I mean.”
“Will you tell me?” I asked gently. “Will you tell me whatall of itmeans to you?”
She took a Nemo napkin and started ripping it into tiny pieces. I almost said something—we didn’t have that many extras, and I didn’t want to vacuum again—but I bit my tongue.
