Page 126 of Give & Take

She’s quiet a moment, then says in a wobbly voice, “But you play with us. And you make Mommy so happy. Our real daddy just makes Mommy mad. And sad sometimes.”

I hold my chin over her head, clasping her tight. “We’ll have to work on that, won’t we?”

I feel her nod. “He’s okay. He just makes a lot of mistakes. But I make mistakes too.”

“We all do, sweetheart, trust me.” Like maybe attempting this conversation.

“Can I try some more cake now?” she asks.

I laugh softly. “Yeah. You can have this big piece”—Icut off a smallish portion of the cake and stick it on her plate—“while I go talk to your sister, okay?”

Aurora climbs over to her chair. “Fank youuuuu!” she sings.

If she’s singing a thank you, I know at least I haven’t fucked up too badly with one out of two.

Nova grunts in response to my knock on her door, which I’m not sure means come in or stay out, so I clarify, “I’m coming in, okay?”

This time I get a “Do what you want.”

I close my eyes, then open them again. I love this girl, with all her thorns. She’s unreadable, and yet sometimes I feel like I can read her like a book.

Just like her Mom.

“Hey,” I say when I open the door.

Nova’s sitting on the edge of her bed, her back to me. She’s ripping a brush through a doll’s hair, cursing, possibly, under her breath.

“I didn’t know you had any dolls you liked to play with still,” I say, surprised. She likes to act like she doesn’t care about toys, even though she’s still of that age where she loves to play. Unless she sees a friend who doesn’t. Then it’s all mature talk about whatever eight year olds who think they’re mature talk about.

She tosses the doll aside. It thuds against the wall, landing on its head. “I don’t.”

I grimace, saying a silent apology to the doll. Then Igo over and pick her up from where she lies upside down on her head, and sit her on the windowsill.

I can see Nova’s face now. Her eyes are red. I’ve very rarely seen Nova cry, but she’s on the verge now.

You did this.

Nova asks, standing up. “She doesn’t like that spot,” she says, forgetting she doesn’t play with dolls. She goes back to her bed, tucking her into the blanket next to her pillow.

I run my hand over my hair. There’s a chair in the room, but it’s behind Nova. So I settle for leaning against the wall. “Can I sit?” I ask.

Nova shrugs.

I settle on the floor.

“So, Nova?—”

“Whatever you’re going to say,” she says, whirling on me, “make sure you tell me the truth. I’m almost nine and I can tell the difference between a truth and a lie.”

She’s nine in November, but she’s right.

“Have you ever thought of being a lawyer?”

Nova glowers at me.

Her mom’s probably asked her the same thing.

I run my hand over my jaw. “Nova, I didn’t mean to upset you back there. Maybe this doesn’t make sense—I’m not sure it does to me now—but I was trying to see what your feelings were about what I’ve been thinking about. You’re right, as of right now, I’m not staying here.”

---