Page 49 of Unwrapped By the Grumpy Mountain Man
We’re all snuggled in the oversized couch I bought, where we can lean back with our legs up. I’m in the middle, Angie is gluedto my left, Lucy’s to my right between me and Violet, and Silvie eventually allowed herself to accept support. Violet offered her to lie on Vi’s lap while she combed Sil’s hair with her fingers.
“Mommy may have the judge tell her to get help from doctors and medicine for a while. She’s sick, and that sickness makes her selfish sometimes. But you know she loves you three very much.”
Silvie scoffs. I don’t correct her. She’s been the one carrying the role of mother. I haven’t been there to truly know what she’s seen or experienced. Right now, they are all allowed to feel what they need to. I won’t pretend this shit isn’t fucked. Cause it is. Even if I’m finally able to give them peace.
“So, when she gets better,” Angie asks, “do we have to leave you again and live with her?”
I run my hand over her head. “If the judge decides that you live with me full-time, that will stay permanent. If your mother proves she’s better and the judge lets her, she’ll visit you here, with me present. But no, you don’t have to leave, and you won’t have to live with her again. Is that what you girls want?” I ask, knowing that while to me, it’s an easy decision, that’s not guaranteed to be how they feel about it.
“I like living here. It’s clean, and smells nicer, and I like my room,” Lucy shares. “And I love Vi Vi,” she expresses for the first time.
Violet’s intake of breath has me reaching out and squeezing her thigh by Silvie’s head.
“I love you too, Luce. I love you all. So much. No matter what happens, I’ll always be available to you. All of you,” she says, looking me in the eye, hers misted over.
Silvie tilts her head up and looks at Violet. “You’re not going anywhere, right? You’re here to love us and Dad, forever?”
Shit.
Violet’s eyes dart to mine in slight panic. Leaning down, she caresses my oldest girl’s face. “I will always be here for you. I will love you all, forever, no matter what.”
Silvie is appeased and relaxes back against Violet’s thigh. My throat closes up, a hurricane of questions trying to pierce in, but I keep that door closed, focusing on giving my girls whatever they need tonight.
Both Violet and I put the girls to bed. They insisted on sleeping together, so Violet dubbed tonight ‘Sleepover in Sil’s Big Bed,’ to which Lucy and Angie ran in and jumped up and down laughing. Hearing laughter after earlier is a gift that almost brings me to my knees.
Violet creates a sea of pillows and blankets on Silvie’s queen-sized bed and sets up a Christmas movie for them to fall asleep to. They’re all out five minutes into it.
Now, it’s almost eleven and I’m dragging. My body feels like three trains rammed into it. Violet’s been contemplative. Both of us have been quietly doing our night routine, almost awkwardly bypassing the other in the bathroom.
I hate it.
Now more than ever, I want stability for my daughters. And I want Violet to be a part of that, but only if that’s what she truly wants. If we are what she truly wants.
We’re both in bed, being weird and quiet.
“How’s your hand?” she asks, glancing over at the bruises and cuts.
She first saw it before the girls arrived, but there was no time to fret over it. I kept it wrapped to hide it from the girls and Ms. Barnes, but now it’s exposed. Violet doesn’t wait for me to respond but gets up and goes to the bathroom. I hear the faucet run. Shortly, she’s back and climbing back on her side but sliding over toward me, taking my hand, and placing the cold cloth over it.
I hiss at the sting, but a few seconds in, relief settles into my skin.
“Thank you,” I rasp.
“I probably would’ve punched a wall too if Sanford told me what happened.”
I give a weak chuckle. “I’d beat the wall after for daring to hurt you.”
Her face sharply looks up at me. Those blue eyes flicker with colors and expressions. My other hand runs over the back of her head.
“What’s been going on in that head of yours lately?” I whisper.
Her eyes water, but she looks down and focuses on patting the cloth over my knuckles.
“Are you worried about having the girls full-time now?” I ask.
“No,” she shakes her head and looks at me again. “I love that they’re finally home, with you.”
“With us,” I remind her. “Even if it’s only for another five months.” My mouth tastes acrid saying the words, but she needs to know she has options. The decision is hers. She’s free to live her own life. Even if I bleed secretly every day she’s gone.
