After the day I had, I deserve a win.
“He’s not really bad.” Although he does hold a young woman captive for weeks on end, won’t let her touch his precious rose and flies into uncontrollable rages at the drop of a petal. Nope. Nothing scary, mean, abusive or misogynistic about any of that. “He’s nice. At the end he even stops being a beast.”
Yes, yes, it all happens after a particularly violent scene where he gets stabbed, and okay, handsome Gaston does meet a gruesome end, but hey! Belle and whatever-the-beast’s-real-name-is kiss! Love conquers all! Happy, happy, joy, joy!
“Please, Taylor.” There’s a whine to my voice. Clearly, I’ve lost my mind. It’s humiliating to admit but I am, indeed, pleading with a two-year-old. “It’ll be fun. You’ll like it.”
Devyn comes into the living room, carrying a sippy cup of chocolate milk for Taylor, and looks at me like I’m one step below Gaston on the creepy, evil scale.
“She can’t watch that,” my sister reminds me. “It gives her nightmares.”
“I’m the one who’s going to have nightmares if I have to watch Cinderella again.” I flop onto the couch with a rather dramatic sigh. A prince and a peasant girl? Please. “If I have to listen to those talking mice squeak ‘Cinderelly! Cinderelly!’ one more time, I’m going to dig my eardrums out with a fork.”
“Or,” Dev says, handing Taylor the cup, “you could not watch it. You could stay in your room--”
“It’s too hot in there,” I say, the whine in my tone increasing with each passing moment.
“What about that new pie recipe you wanted to try?” Dev puts Cinderella in the DVD player. Pushes Play. No win for me. Not today. “You could bake it while we watch the movie.”
I cross my arms, realize I’m still holding Beauty and the Beast and toss it onto the coffee table. “It’s too hot to bake, too.”
Dev straightens and raises her eyebrows at me. Dev not only looks the most like Mom, but they also share an intolerance for whiners and complainers.
“Go sit on the porch then,” she suggests. “It’s a nice night. Take a book out there and enjoy it.”
“I don’t feel like reading and I don’t want to enjoy anything.” I sink farther down into the cushions, tip my chin to my chest. “I’d rather stay right here and be miserable, thanks all the same.”
“What’s going on with you?” Dev asks, not unkindly but with more than a little exasperation. Then again, her life has pretty much been one major irritation after another, especially after Gigi took off. She threw away her own future to become my and Zoe’s legal guardian so we didn’t go into the system.
She stepped up. Devyn always steps up and does what’s right. What needs to be done.
So I can hardly complain that I’m a pathetic nobody who’s spending yet another Friday night at home with my two-year-old niece and my sister when that sister should be going out herself on one of the few nights she has off.
She shouldn’t even be here.
“Nothing’s going on,” I say, pretending great interest in the movie I just said I never wanted to see again. “It was just a long day.”
Her expression softens and she nods in commiseration. Long, sucky work-days she understands.
And it’s enough of a believable explanation for her not to ask any more questions.
No, I didn’t tell her or Zoe about working with Sam today.
They have more than enough on their plates without worrying about me.
Especially Devyn. She’s given up way too much for me to add to it, even a little bit.
I’ll figure this thing with Sam out. On my own.
“They mean sistas,” Taylor tells no one in particular—or possibly everyone in the universe—in her angry voice which, again, super cute. On the screen, Cinderella’s nasty stepsisters are teasing her and that is an injustice Taylor cannot stand. She snuggles back against me and whispers, “I don’t like them sistas. I like Cinda-ella.”
I brush back Taylor’s soft hair. Kiss the top of her head. “That’s because you’re a good girl.”
Taylor nods, still watching the movie. “I good and nice and pwetty and smawt and stwong.”
Well, she’s got all the bases covered.
Not sure the order’s correct but whatever. Dev, Zoe and I will work on that with her.
Strength has to come first.
A girl has to protect herself. Her physical self, yes, but just as important, she has to protect her heart.
While Devyn curls up on the armchair with a thriller she picked up at the library and Taylor continues to alternately narrate the film and give her own commentary on the characters, I tip my head back against the couch. Stare at the ceiling.
This—my feeling so down, so unsettled and, well, left out, I guess—is my punishment for hurting Sam last summer. For what I did at Christmas.
That’s the thing about Karma. It doesn’t play favorites. And no one escapes it.
It’s life’s way of keeping things balanced. Sam and I never should have been friends in the first place and this is Fate’s way of showing us the error of our ways.
Mess with Fate and you get slapped upside the head.
In the movie, Cinderella’s fairy godmother is making all her dreams come true when someone knocks on our front door. Eggie races over, barks, then runs back to us, quivering with excitement at this unexpected occurrence: a visitor on a Friday night!
Then again, a visitor at any time, on any day, is cause for surprise and wonderment.
One of us really needs to get a friend or two.
Devyn gets up and crosses to the door and opens it. Eggie darts out to greet whoever’s on the other side.
“Hey, Dev,” Sam says.
Sam! Sam is here, at my house. Now.
Crap.
“Sam,” she says, and I hear her surprise. Her suspicion. “Hello. Haven’t seen you for a while.”
“No, uh…” He clears his throat and I imagine him shifting uncomfortably. “Is Hadley home?”
My eyes widen. Wow. He must really be nervous, or at least, anxious. Usually he’d give Devyn his whole charming spiel—asking her how she is, apologizing for showing up unannounced, offering to take out the garbage or mow the lawn.
But tonight he got straight to the point.
That can’t be good for me.
I try to mentally link minds with Devyn. Tell him I’m not home. Tell him I’m not home.
“Of course she’s home,” she says, her tone implying where else would she be?
I hang my head. Well, the whole ESP thing was a long shot anyway but she didn’t have to say it like that.
As if I haven’t left the house since Sam left.
Which is basically true but she doesn’t have to let him in on that little detail.
I shift Taylor onto the couch and stand, ready to bolt out the back door because you can bet your sweet bibbity, bobbity boo I wish I wasn’t here. I wish I was out, somewhere, anywhere with anybody, preferably an entire group of people who enjoy my company, laugh at all my jokes and hang on my every word.
But I’m too late to escape. Sam’s already stepping inside thanks to my sister opening the door wide and gesturing for him to come on in.
Even for Karma, this latest bit seems excessive.