I was jealous of that.
I wished I could have the mind of a kindergartener. Grief seemed easier for her little, still-forming brain.
I didn’t eat with the two of them, and Ellie never forced me to, either. She simply made me a plate and allowed me to go on with my evening.
Ellie always made spaghetti on Mondays, like Mom used to do. Grandma Claire made sure to tell Ellie that rule. I was grateful for that. Spaghetti Mondays felt like a hug from Mom.
As I sat in my closet for the remainder of the afternoon, I worked on a novel I’d been playing around with for a while. I wasn’t a great writer, but I tried my best, and expressing myself always made me feel better.
I wondered if Mom would’ve liked my words.
I wondered if she would’ve been proud of me.
I wondered if she would’ve wanted me to officially apologize to Ash for being a jerk.
Sadly, I knew the answer to all those thoughts.
Yes, yes, and absolutely yes.
When there was a knock on my bedroom closet, I sat up straighter. I rubbed my eyes and cleared my throat. “Yeah?” I called out.
“Karla, it’s Dad. It’s late and you should be in bed.”
Late? No way it was late.
I looked down at my phone and saw it was a little after midnight.
Geez, itwaslate.
Sometimes when I was writing, I’d lose myself so deeply in the story that time would pass by without me even knowing it happened.
After putting my stuff away, I stood and stepped out of the closet, quickly closing the door behind me.
As I walked out, I saw Dad standing there in his work suit, looking exhausted. That wasn’t shocking. He always looked exhausted. I wondered when the last time was that he had a good night’s sleep. The bags under his eyes were almost as sad as his forever frown.
He slid his hands into the pockets of his pants and swayed back and forth.
“So...” he started, arching an eyebrow at me.
I arched one back. “So what?”
His eyes moved to the carpeted floor, and he cleared his throat before looking up toward me. “I heard you have a new friend.”
A wave of nausea swept over me as anger began to bubble up. There was only one way that he knew anything about that boy.
Eleanor Gable.
Ugh.
I was going to kill Ellie.
***
The next few days, I tried to give Ellie my best silent treatment. I figured maybe she’d realized how majorly she’d messed up by sharing information about Ash with Dad. But the problem with Ellie? She didn’t pick up on my moody behavior, because I was always moody anyway. And my moodiness never stopped her from trying in the past.
Each day, she kept trying to build a relationship of some kind with me. She’d invite me to join Lorelai and her for dinner. I always refused. She’d ask me how my day had been. I always grumbled in reply. She’d smile at me. I’d scowl back at her.
Her kindness felt forced, and truthfully, I needed a break from her perfection, because it only reminded me how imperfect I was.
