Page 53 of Taken By The Wolves (Blackwood Forest #2)

GOLDILOCKS

O blessèd, blessèd night! I am afeard,

Being in night, all this is but a dream,

Romeo and Juliet

The past

“Why did you call me Goldilocks?”

My mom grimaces at the question I’ve asked a hundred times. She’s sick of telling me the story, but I’ll never tire of imagining myself as a little girl in my very own fairytale.

“Not now, Goldie.” She’d rather be doing anything else than sitting with me, but this is one of the few ways I can get her to dedicate any time or attention to me.

For whatever reason, once she begins to tell me about her dreams before I was born, she gets lost in the magic of the story and forgets about the things she’d rather be doing.

“Please, Mom.” I make sure my voice isn’t high-pitched and annoying. It’s a straightforward request, one she’s less likely to refuse.

Mom glances at the pile of dishes waiting to be washed, then back at me. “Okay. One more time.”

“Okay,” I agree, even though I hope it won’t be.

“When you were growing in my belly,” Mom says, resting her hand over her almost flat stomach, “I started having dreams.”

“What about?” I play along.

“About a tiny golden-haired little girl.”

“Wearing a green dress,” I say brightly, excitement making my voice sparkle.

“And three furry brown baby bears.”

“Like the story,” I say.

“Exactly like the story.”

“Did the bears hurt the little girl?” I ask.

“No,” Mom says softly. “They didn’t hurt you.”

I like it when she gets so lost in the dream that she forgets the little girl wasn’t really me. She didn’t know I was a girl before I was born. I was just a mystery bump.

“What did they do?”

“They played with you.” She closes her eyes, trying to recall the images. A smile plays at the edges of her lips.

“They played?”

“Yes. They tickled you with their noses in your palms. They chased you until you were laughing so much, you fell onto the grass. Then they surrounded you like a big brown fur rug, nuzzling you from all sides.”

“Did I smile?”

“Yes. You looked very happy. The bears made you happy.”

I often wished the bears would come for me, so the loneliness I’ve felt most days could be replaced by the warmth of that happiness, so I could bury my face in their soft fur and laugh like the girl in the dream.

“And that’s why you called me Goldilocks?”

“It’s like the universe was trying to tell me something,” Mom muses; then, as though a shutter has dropped, her smile retreats like the tide, she smooths her skirt and rises from the couch.

“What were the bears’ names?” I call after her, already missing the warmth of the story.

“I told you I don’t remember.” A part of me doesn’t believe her. “And that’s the last time I’m telling that story.”

She always said the same thing, knowing the threat would panic me, but that time she stuck to it. I never heard the story again.

At night, when my bed felt cold, I imagined what it would be like to be surrounded by the warmth of three kind bears.

I slipped back into my mom’s dream, picturing myself asleep with them surrounding me, keeping me safe, and filling the empty, barren corners of my soul with delight.

I kept the image alive until I reached puberty, and cute boys made me forget all about bears until my real story started.

Once upon a time…