Page 11 of My Sweet Dollie, You Have to Love Me
I sigh, not wanting to sit there and not feeling brave enough to play because it reminds me of home.
Homesickness dances in my stomach, twirling faster the longer I stay in one spot, so I move to the piano and sit with Dollie, convincing myself that I’m not bothered about this disgusting seat. That it’ll be okay to sit on this filth and that it doesn’t matter that I had to sit down three times to prevent my father’s death today.
Another thought challenges me, resulting in me setting my crutch down three times. That was to save Mom.
“It’s all in your head. You don’t need to do that.” Dad doesn’t get it.
I don’t waste my breath explaining how real it is to me.
New feelings arise as irritation runs through my blood in the wake of those painful thoughts, the second my fingers touch the dusty keys, and I can’t brush it off, even when I try against myblue pajamas. It festers when Dollie joins in and hits the wrong key again.
“That’s wrong.”
My tone isn’t harsh, and Dad would realize that if he were paying attention to us, but his eyes are still downcast, still staring at whatever is amusing him on his phone, when he warns, “Play nice, Ambrose. It’s not her fault you’re agitated.”
“We have a guest. She made us some welcome cookies. They’re double chocolate chip and mint.” Mom appears in the doorway that leads into the foyer with two strangers at her side.
The first stranger is a woman considerably older than Mom, and the other is a child who looks like the miniature version of her mother, with her tightly pulled blonde hair knotted on top of her head and her posh little dress. She sniffs, and her face scrunches hideously with displeasure over the scent of our house.
“Something smells funny.”
Feeling protective of my new home, I snap back, “I think it’s the cookies.”
“Ambrose!” Mom’s pink cheeks aren’t from makeup today. Like the rest of us, she’s still fresh-faced in her pajamas. The pink comes from embarrassment. The embarrassment comes from me.
Dollie laughs. “Sounds like you’re gonna be grounded later.”
Her tiny elbow slams into my ribs, and I roll my eyes as I rub away the ache.
“I’m sorry. Kids, huh.” Mom fakes a laugh. I know it because whenever she does it, she squints so much I can no longer see the blue of her eyes.
“Boys will be boys,” the woman smiles, and I’m pretty sure that’s fake, too. “I’m glad I only have a girl.”
Yeah, because she’s much less rude than I am.
“This is Dahlia, and I’m Rowena.”
“Well, you’ve met Ambrose.” With the cookie tray tight in one hand, Mom points to me with a finger and a warning glare before her gesture moves to Dollie, who turns to wave, whipping me with her blonde curls.
“Our girl is Dollancie. This is my husband, Ronan, and I’m Genevieve.”
“It’s nice to have new neighbors. I wasn’t sure it would ever happen. This place has been empty for years, and I mean years. My husband and I were in high school the last time someone considered buying it. What made you guys take the plunge?” the woman’s voice heightens, and it sounds funny to my ears.
I hold in my laugh to avoid further trouble.
“We were just looking for somewhere new. I like a project, and this came up at a good price. That’s what I do, you see. I take old things and revive them.” Mom’s attention flicks back to Dad, who hasn’t offered the woman in our home more than a quick hello. “Do we have any of my business cards?”
“They’ll be in the moving van.”
“Oh, shoot, yes! Like everything else.”
“Oh, that’s okay, honey. We don’t really have anything that needs upcycling. My husband likes the modern look, you know. Anyway, we’d best be on our way. This little angel is seven today!”
Both of my parents wish Dahlia a happy birthday, and she revels in the attention, curtseying like a queen.
My lip curls, and an eyebrow raises.
“Yes, seven already. Time goes so quickly.”
