Page 55 of Ruthless Serenade

I’m so lost in thought that I don’t notice the soft padding of little feet approaching. My t-shirt gets tugged on and I look down to see my baby girl’s big, curious eyes.

"Are we going to the zoo, Mommy?"

Shit. The zoo. I almost forgot about that. There’s no way I’m getting any work done today. Maybe in the evening, when Sharon is asleep.

"Sure, sweetie." I give her a big ol’ smile. "Let’s go take over the zoo. I bet the monkeys are already waiting for us."

She giggles and her mood immediately improves. "Mommy, I want to wear my pink skirt!"

"Seriously, Sharon? Your pink Barbie-doll skirt at the zoo?"

"Yes, yes!"

Pink skirt it is, I guess. By the time we finish getting ready, Sharon looks like an underage Barbie doll. Not exactly your typical zoo outfit, but hey – a girl’s got to have the freedom of choice. It’s never too early to teach that to kids.

I quickly throw on a sports jacket, take Sharon’s tiny hand, and help her tie her shoes.

"Mommy, who were you talking to in the kitchen?" she chirps.

"Were you sneaking a listen?" I tease.

"No, I was not," Sharon exclaims, her eyes wide with innocence.

"Oh, I bet you weren’t!" I wink. "I was talking to Auntie Alexis."

"Auntie Alexis?" Sharon repeats, her nose scrunching up in confusion. "Who's that?"

"Well…" I hesitate for a moment, but I guess there’s no harm in preparing her to meet her aunt. "She’s my sister. She’s also your auntie. You met her when you were still a baby." I smile. "She might come over to see us soon."

I watch my daughter from the corner of my eye for any signs of confusion or anxiety. I can see her fingers start to fidget with the hem of her shirt - a sure sign that she’s getting nervous. "I don’t want her to visit, Mommy," she whispers.

I pat her little shoulder. "Don’t worry, sweetie," I reassure her, kneeling down to her level. "It’s just a short visit. And remember, if you don’t feel like talking, you can always just point to things or nod. There’s no pressure to speak if you don’t want to."

I can see relief in Sharon’s eyes, but there’s still tension in her shoulders.

"It’s okay, baby." I pull her into a hug. "If it gets too much, you just squeeze my hand, okay?"

"Okay, Mommy," she whispers.

I often find myself wondering what could be going on in that little head of hers at times like this. What makes her so afraid of meeting new people? How does she choose who to talk to? I know her selective mutism is a condition, but there are aspects of it I still don’t understand. How does a mother navigate this anyway? A part of me always wants to make her feel safe and secure, another part of me wants to prepare her for the real world. I won’t always be there to protect her.

"Mommy, how did you and Auntie Alexis become sisters?"

Her innocent question catches me off guard. Kids see the world in such unique ways and it never ceases to amaze me. I pause for a moment, trying to think of a simple explanation for her young mind. "I don’t remember, sweetheart. When Emily and I were born, Alexis was already there."

I can almost hear the gears turning in her head. "I want a little sister too, Mommy," she says wistfully.

My throat tightens at the longing in her voice. "Why do you want a little sister, sweetie?" I ask. By the time I realize it’s a stupid question, it’s out.

"To play with her. I have nobody to play with."

My guilt rises. I set up a trap for myself and walked right into it. "You’ve got Tania and me, baby." I gently tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. With the stuffed rabbit hugged tight to her chest, she looks so small and vulnerable that it makes me want to scoop her up and protect her from the harshness of the world. But I can’t. All I can do now is give her a big bear hug.

As I hold Sharon close, I think about what Tania said to me a few days ago. About Sharon talking to a man at the school event. A complete stranger. "She just walked right up to him and they started talking like they were old friends," she’d said. I remember how my heart skipped a beat at her words. How does my shy little girl, who doesn’t even talk to her classmates, strike up a conversation with an adult stranger? And who the hell was this mysterious guy?

I’m tempted to ask Sharon about it, but I hesitate. She looks down at her feet, then up at me. "Mommy, where are the angels?"

I blink, caught off guard again. Leave it to my six-year-old to blindside me with life’s big questions.

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