Page 46 of Severed Rivalry
I’m not saying we’re doomed, but so far it doesn’t feel like things are going well.
Except for my spirits.
And my heart.
And the butterflies that are rocking “Gangnam Style” in my belly from the time I wake to the time I drift to sleep.
When I get home, the goofy grin that comes from deep in my soul is still in place. That is, until my daughter’s attitude starts attituding.
“I’m trying to beat this level.”
“I get that, Née, but the level will be there after dinner.”
“It’s timed.” How whiny can she make that word sound? “RoRo understands.”
“She might, but she’s not here, and we have a rule about devices at the table.”
She cries. She literally sets her phone down hard enough to break it and cries. I’m torn. She’s a teen, and a hormonal one at that, but she doesn’t freak out like this. On the flip side, she likes getting her way and more often than not does when she’s with her grandmother. That’s what grandmothers are for. I wish I’d had one to spoil me too.
I want to fix it, but more so, I want electronics and devices not to have this much control or worm their way in this deep. Too late. The world is what it is.
And I know that’s rich coming from a woman in pen testing and cyber security who’s online all day every day, but a girl can dream.
When the tears have subsided and dinner is mostly done, I offer an olive branch. “I’d love for you to show me the game after dinner. Did you show RoRo?”
“Yeah. She downloaded it. She added me, and we can play against each other if we want. If she gets good, I can add her to my team too.”
Leave it to Rosie to bond with Renée right where she is.
“Well, if you get a shower, I’ll do dishes, then you can show me. If you’d rather do the cleanup, I’d understand.”
She practically levitates, clearing her plate to the sink, and rushes into the bathroom. Either she’s addicted or doesn’t want to clean.
Both. Always both.
Dishes done, daughter clean and fresh, lunches made for tomorrow, I bail on the sofa with Renée and our phones to begin learning this game. This is something no amount of parenting guides help with—keeping up with the games, interest, the lingo. I swear sometimes she says whole sentences where I can’t decipher a single word.
I download the game, set up a user profile, and get disjointedinstruction from the thirteen-year-old whose thumbs fly across her screen like she’s clairvoyant with where things will happen next.
I’ll figure it out. Not enough to see it in my dreams as things tend to do when I’m immersed, but enough to chat with my girl and be on her team if she wants it.
I play for a while, getting the basics, and watch a few YouTube creators about how to think about the game and level up quickly.
Hours come and go and when I realize it’s after midnight, I chide myself for my one-more-try mentality that will hurt tomorrow.
I flip to my messaging app and see two new texts from Cian.
Cian: I slept through the time I would’ve called to tell you goodnight. I need to know best times for you. We’re not invincible anymore. I’m sure you have a schedule. I do… Or did.
Cian: Anyway, sweet dreams, Angel. Hope your day was great. Except for how well they work, I hate the meds I’m on. Don’t do drugs, kids.
15
d’s woman
Cian
Ayla drives like a bat out of hell. Well, she does in her little convertible. Luckily, she spared me of that ride this morning, and we’re in her huge SUV. So not bat-like, but maybe tank-like is more appropriate.
