We slipped out before the excitement could rope us back in.
The moment we walked inside the house, my mother materialized out of thin air like she’d been waiting behind a piece of furniture.
“Well, how was rehearsal?”
Ava said a small hello as she slipped her shoes off.
"Those need to go up to your room," my mother reminded her. "How was rehearsal?" she asked again.
"Ava, I'm talking to you?—"
Ava turned away from her mid-sentence and headed silently up the stairs.
“Ava,” my mother barked, “Come back down here!”
Ava didn’t answer. She didn’t even look back. Just walked down the hall and shut her bedroom door with a soft but decisive click.
My mother made an exasperated noise, something sharp and disapproving. “That girl . . . ”
“Mom,” I said softly, “she was overwhelmed. She needed quiet. That’s all.”
My mother sniffed and crossed her arms. “She needs discipline.”
I closed my eyes for one long second, steadied myself, and headed upstairs. She was a broken record when it came to Ava, and I was done listening.
I closed Ava’s door softly after checking on her. She was already curled under her blanket, headphones back on, completely at peace now that the world was quiet again.
I walked to my room, exhaled slowly, and texted Alex.
Eleanor:Home. How was ice cream?
A moment later, my phone buzzed. He sent a picture.
Leo was knocked out cold in the back seat of Alex’s Prius, mouth slightly open, a melted streak of strawberry ice cream down his shirt like an abstract painting. A sprinkle was stuck to his cheek.
I laughed—really laughed—and felt something in my chest loosen.
Eleanor:That’s the most relatable picture I’ve ever seen.
Eleanor: I wish I were there instead of in this stuffy old house.
I hesitated after sending it. It was honest. Maybe too honest.
The house was so quiet I could hear the old grandfather clock downstairs ticking. I glanced at my laptop on the desk. There was still time to get things done, not chores, not my mother’s expectations.Mywork.
I pulled out my sketchpad and markers and settled cross-legged onto the rug. Only one page left.
My phone buzzed again.
Alex:Everyone is significantly less sticky and in bed. What are you up to?
I snapped a picture of the illustration I was finishing. It was the little derby girl, all fire and confidence, racing forward with her hair trailing behind her.
Eleanor:Finishing the last page. Just one more.
I barely had time to set my phone down before it rang.
Alex.
