Page 155 of Severed Rivalry
“For what?”
She waves a hand as if that’s explanation enough.
“Never be sorry for needing family. Never be sorry for letting me be strong when you need it, okay?”
“Okay.” Her voice is quiet, but her face, despite the red splotches and swollen nose and puffy eyes, seems downright calm.
Randomly, Cian boops Renée’s nose, as if she were a pup. Weirdo.
“I’m going to make pancakes. Do you want blueberries or chocolate chips in yours?”
“One of each?”
“Sure thing.” He turns to me. “And you?”
“Same.”
“Alrighty then. I’ll meet you in the kitchen when you’re ready.” He saunters through the door and leans back looking at his pup. “You coming?”
When Eleanor doesn’t move, he mutters under his breath and leaves the women of the house together. If I’m not mistaken, he calls her a traitor, but I don’t think he’s actually mad about it.
I flop onto the bed near where my daughter sits. I don’t want to talk about therapy. I don’t want to talk about what we went through. I want to erase it from my memory and pretend it never existed. Solid parenting at its finest. Denial. Denial. Denial.
“You didn’t tell me.” My daughter says sheepishly.
And denial loses again.
“Tell you what, “Née?”
“That you were having nightmares.”
I wrap an arm around her waist and speak into the blankets. “I’m sorry. Sometimes I think I’m screwing everything up. Actually, I always think I’m screwing up. Yes, I’m having nightmares. I couldn’t protect you. I couldn’t save you. That may haunt me forever.”
“Cian saved both of us.”
He did.
“You think the dreams will stop?”
“I hope so.”
“Me too, Mom.” She falls back to the bed, her head hitting her pillow and her hair splaying wildly.
Before we even settle, Eleanor jumps up and slides between our not-quite-touching thighs. She nuzzles a nose under my free hand but slides her back against Renée.
“I think she’s claimed you,” I offer.
“Think Cian will be mad?”
“Not even a little.”
Breakfast came and went.
Ayla did the same. Cian wasn’t wrong when he said she and my daughter could conquer Denver, but he missed the Front Range and the High Country. I swear the two of them together could overrun the state… and well beyond.
She told us about Joanie and how she found her. Then she told me about Jessi, her amazing hair wizardress, as she calls her. I swear Ayla Murphy Barone could sell bridges in the desert, ice in the Arctic circle, and water to a man stranded at sea.
I’m convinced I need to meet both Jessi and Joanie. Hell, at this point I’d buy a timeshare with both of them, sight unseen. This does not bode well for my wallet.
