Page 99 of Fake it With Me

I prayed that was the truth.

Dinner that night was painful. I made her favorite. It was mac and cheese from scratch with bacon and breadcrumbs on the top just the way she liked it. I was never going to be mistaken for Gordon Ramsay but I had a few recipes I nailed.

Usually, she loved my mac and cheese. But tonight she just sat there pushing it around her plate with her fork, creating patterns in the cheese sauce without actually eating any of it.

“Not hungry, kiddo?”

She shrugged.

“It’s your favorite.”

Another shrug.

I tried a different tactic. “How was school today?”

“Fine.”

“Just fine? Did anything interesting happen?”

“No.”

“Did you play with Emma at recess?”

“Yeah.”

One-word answers. That was all I was getting. She wouldn’t look at me. She just kept moving her food around with that sad expression on her face.

After Sasha left, Daisie had shut down like this for weeks. Stopped being her usual bright, chattering self and became this quiet, withdrawn version. It had broken my heart then, and it was breaking my heart now.

Especially because this time, it was my fault.

“Hey,” I tried again. “Want to go out on the boat this weekend? Just you and me? We could pack a lunch, spend the whole day on the water. Maybe look for whales again.”

That would normally have her bouncing in her seat with excitement. She loved going out on the boat. She loved any excuse to spend the day on the water.

But she just shrugged again. “If you want to.”

“I’m asking what you want to do.”

“I don’t care.”

Those three words gutted me. Daisie always cared. She had opinions about everything, from what color socks to wear to what flavor ice cream was superior. She was passionate and enthusiastic and full of life.

This hollow, indifferent version of my daughter was wrong. And I had created it.

“Can I be excused?” She looked up at me finally. The sadness in her eyes made my throat tight. I didn’t think it was possible, but she actually had dark circles under her eyes. How could a little girl have sleepless nights that resulted in dark circles?

“Your plate is still full.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You barely ate anything.”

“I’m not hungry,” she repeated. I heard the note of anger in her voice. “Can I please go to my room?”

What was I supposed to say? Force her to sit here and pretend everything was fine when it clearly wasn’t? She had every right to be mad at me. I was just grateful she wasn’t saying it. Although I suspected those feelings would be put to words in the next few years.

“Yeah, okay. Go ahead.”