The next morning,I unwittingly made everything worse.
The kids were at the table eating breakfast and I had just finished tidying up the entire kitchen when the boys started to fling food at each other.
Tor was immediately on it. “Boys, if you act like animals, I’m gonna start feeding you from a trough.”
Adrian’s face bunched. “What’s a twof?”
Tor explained, “It’s a big, long, dirty thing that pigs eat out of. You want to eat outside, like a pig?”
Domenic’s face brightened and he jumped in his seat. “Yes!”
“Well, good thing, you’re heading that way,” their dad murmured.
The kitchen was sparkling clean when I decided to stick my foot into my mouth. “Guys, you know where the dishwasher is. Please use it. I swear, if someone puts a single fork into that sink, I will take that tea towel and hang myself with it.”
Ella’s spoon drooped into her bowl with a light splash and a loud clink, and although the boys seemed relatively unaffected, the tense silence coming from Tor and Ella made my insides shrivel. I cautiously asked, “Is everything okay?”
Ella’s chair screeched loudly and she stormed off, leaving her breakfast behind.
I blinked at her retreating form before looking towards my husband. “What did I do?”
I knew it was bad when he said, “Boys, go upstairs.” I watched them leave and then, he patted the seat next to him and uttered softly, “Sit down, baby. Let’s talk.”
When he started to speak, my stomach tensed. Part way through, it clenched. By the end of his story, it downright ached, and my chest right along with it.
My words were feather soft. “She killed herself?”
Tor nodded. “The boys don’t remember but it was Ella who found her.”
My heart dropped in time with my stomach.
Oh, shit. My poor excuse for a joke had just triggered my step-daughter and right then, I didn’t blame her for hating me. I would have hated me too.
I just couldn’t seem to get it right with Ella and I was truly worried she and I would never see eye-to-eye.
Later that night, after a quiet dinner where conversation was stunted, I pucked up the courage to knock lightly on her door. When she opened it, I was prepared to be turned away. Imagine my surprise when she moved back, allowing me entry.
“Hi,” I uttered nervously. “Your dad took the boys to soccer practice and I’m feeling a little lonely in this enormous house. I thought I would make some hot chocolate if you wanted some.”
She thought about it a long second before she lifted her chin and nodded once, still unable to drop her suspicions of me. “Okay.”
Forget about weeping statues of Mary or Jesus shaped potato chips.Thiswas a miracle.
She followed me down into the kitchen and watched closely as I struggled to make us cocoa without setting the kitchen on fire. When I finally set a mug down in front of her, she remained solemn-faced as I placed a handful of mini marshmallows into her mug and when she picked up a spoon, dunking her mallows, I began softly with, “Ella, about this morning…”
She cut me off. “That wasn’t a very funny joke.”
The way she said it, quietly and full of hurt, I had to agree. “You’re right. It wasn’t. I’m so sorry, honey. I didn’t know.”
Ella played with her cocoa, lifting spoonfuls of it and dribbling it back into her mug. “She used to joke about it too. And then she did it.” For the first time since I met stone-cold Ella, she actually sounded like a little girl when she said, “I still don’t know why.”
I wanted to hug her then, but I wasn’t entirely sure it would be welcome. So, instead, I reached over and placed my hand lightly over her free one. She allowed only a few seconds of comfort before she remembered she despised me and when she pulled away, I wasn’t surprised.
Ella stood, leaving her mug of hot chocolate on the counter and said, “I’m tired.”
“Alright.” Sadness filled me whole. Not because she wanted to escape me, but because she was so uncomfortable in her own feelings that it caused her to flee. “Well, thanks for keeping me company.”
The old Ella shone through when she shrugged. “Didn’t have anything better to do.”