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“Sometimes being cold is nice. Do you like ice cream?”

“I love ice cream!”

“Ice cream makes you cold.”

“Just my mouth gets cold.”

They go back and forth a bit. Kara tries to find an equivalent to her walking in the rain that Dahlia will relate to. I think it’s hopeless, but I listen.

If she’s not going to talk to me, it’s still nice to hear her.

It’s excruciating, and makes me want to scream, but somehow it’s also just… nice.

“Are you coming to our house again?”

I grip the steering wheel a little tighter. I bet to my daughter it feels like just yesterday she was standing in our kitchen, baking with us.

She shakes her head.

“If you come over, my mom will make you cookies.”

“I bet she would.” Her voice is soft.

I would make her cookies if she wanted them. I’d do anything she wanted.

I’m disappointed when our apartment building comes into view. I don’t want to watch her head into her apartment, knowing I can’t follow. I don’t want to keep wondering what she’s up to on the other side of the wall.

Probably homework. She’s always doing homework. I can picture in my head just how it goes. Her hair tucked behind her ears, tapping her pencil against her chin.

Everything hurts all over again, like my previous pain has now been soaked in gasoline and set on fire. We sit in the car for a few minutes after Kara gets out.

“Why are you and Kara sad today?”

I turn towards her and smile again. It is a genuine one. She’s just so observant, and smart, and kind.

“Sometimes adults don’t like to talk about their feelings, even when they really should,” I explain. “If you ever think that you shouldn’t say how you’re feeling, you can always tell me. I’m always here to support you, okay?”

“I’ll always tell you.”

“How are you feeling right now?”

She purses her lips to think.

“Um, I’m bored. Can we play with my toys?”

Sounds like a fun time to me. Although, anything sounds more fun than letting the woman who’s currently walking away from me do it again. I have to get this under control, and move on with my life. It hurts too much to keep wishing things were different.

Theywillbe different. I have too much good in my life, I will not let this pain ruin a second more of it.

28

Iget home from dropping off Dahlia and immediately run to wash my face in our main bathroom. I’ve been trying to teach her how to wash her own face, and we play with self care like we’re giving ourselves spa treatments. It’s a win-win because she eats it up, giggles the whole time, and it’s good for my skin. I don’t do it as often as I should.

Caleb was kind enough to tell me that I had bright blue paint all over the side of my face and in my hair, after a very crafty little afternoon. Funny that my child who had been looking at me all day didn’t mention it, but then again she might not have noticed. I do dye my hair pink, maybe she thought a blue face was the next normal thing for me to do.

I’m so grateful it’s washable paint as I locate the strands of hair that are stuck together with it and rinse them as best I can in the sink. A normal person would probably take a whole shower, but I already did that this morning and I refuse to waste the shampoo.That stuff is not cheap when you don’t want your hair color to fade within a week.

I’m startled by a noise to my left, and I glance at the wall there. It’s just a wall, nothing else. I shake off what I thought I heard and go back to the task at hand.