Her All Along

Three

“Good morning!” Pipsqueak closed the gate after herself and trailed up the path to my house. She didn’t arrive empty-handed, I noted.

I eyed her, tired as fuck. “Morning.”

I’d gotten approximately two hours of sleep last night, and I hadn’t even bothered bringing the paper outside with me. Holding the coffee mug and inhaling the caffeine was about all I could handle this predawn morning.

“I thought your dad was going to fix your ceiling fan,” I said.

“He did!” She sat down next to me and smiled. “I just crashed very early last night. Aunt Britt and I made lemonade all day. Want some?” She held up one of those old-fashioned glass bottles. “It’s strawberry, pineapple, and lemon.”

I forced a slight smile and shook my head. “I’m good, thanks.” I took a sip of my coffee instead.

This week was going to age me further.

I’d held out all of June, but my mother’s texts were tumbling in at all hours of the day at this point. I had to go see her if I wanted her to stop. Or at least, I hoped she’d stop. Last time I’d tried, she hadn’t gotten the goddamn message.

“Why do people lie?”

I frowned, giving Pipsqueak my attention. “Who’s lying?”

“My uncle,” she replied frankly. “Mom says he’s lying to Aunt Britt about something. They’re all sad.”

I had to admit I enjoyed it when Pipsqueak came over sometimes. It was strangely easy to talk to this kid, but to give her advice she might carry with her into adulthood was fucking terrifying. I couldn’t go there.

I could say one thing, though. “This is why you shouldn’t hurry to grow up. Adults are ten times worse than children.” I pointed to her bottle. “Stick to dolls, school, and making lemonade with your aunt. Because when you’re a grown-up, all that is gone.”

And you were left with the thieves, abusers, cheaters, and liars.

They’d turned me into one who was just like them.

She pursed her lips and set down the bottle between us. “I don’t play with dolls, just so you know.” She released the two braids she’d no doubt slept in and started combing her fingers through her dark hair. “Willow and I stopped doing that over a year ago. We’re not losers.”

I furrowed my brow. “Don’t do that, Elise.”

She straightened and widened her green eyes. “Do what? And you used my name.”

“Because I’m serious,” I told her. “You wouldn’t be a loser if you played with dolls.”

That seemed to confuse her. She huffed and pulled her hair back into a haphazard bun at the top of her head. I wasn’t sure if that was supposed to be an improvement over the braids.

“I don’t understand people,” she said, frustrated. “Willow and I analyzed our friends last year, and everyone had already stopped playing with toys. We even asked to make sure! So, they say one thing, and then you adults say another. Like, can you make up your mind?”

Sweet child. I knew this was difficult for her—and her sister. I was also surrounded by teenagers every day at work, so I couldn’t say we adults were entirely correct either. Because peer pressure and bullying could fucking hurt, and the truth of the matter was, the girls could face bigger problems if they shut out their peers and went solely on what they wanted.

It was an extremely tough thing to balance, especially if you were autistic and already struggling with social cues and fitting in.

“First of all,” I said slowly, phrasing myself carefully, “do you still want to play with dolls?”

She scrunched her nose and shook her head.

Okay, then. “Then you shouldn’t, of course,” I went on. “But leave out the judgment. That’s why it’s not easy to stand out and be different in school, because someone is always waiting to call a classmate loser.”

She chewed on the inside of her cheek, processing. “I don’t want to be called a loser, so I shouldn’t call others losers.”

“Exactly.”

She accepted that logic.

After finishing my coffee, I reminded her that I was moving today. I’d gotten the keys to my new place, with all its cracks and dents, the other day, and I hadn’t wasted a second. The house I’d called home since I’d left college was already on the market, and the bank had approved a second mortgage since they knew I’d be able to cough up a substantial part as soon as this was sold.

Everything Angie had bought for us would be left behind. She could deal with it. I was out. I didn’t want a single reminder of her in my life. A new bed had been delivered to my own place, sans bed frame for the time being, and all my clothes, books, and few personal belongings were boxed up and waiting to be moved over there.

“You’ll be right on the other side of the playground?” Pipsqueak asked, seemingly for reassurance.