I don’t have this. In fact, I’m beginning to wonder if Sam has this.
I took Camilla away the following weekend in an attempt to find our way back to who we once were as a couple. What I came to realize is that I didn’t like who we were. I don’t even recognize those people anymore. Camilla made it clear that I had not been taking her into consideration in all this, so I made a pact to try harder for the new us. I was rewarded with a stack of brochures for boarding schools she had contacted.
When I entered the apartment after dropping Camilla at her place, Zinnie was in a full-blown melt down, and she and Sam were close to coming to blows. Best I could make out was Zinnie had slapped her sister in frustration and later accused Sam of liking Poppy more than her.
I tried to help Zinnie calm down, but she quickly turned on me, and soon I was losing my temper, threatening to ground her for a month. She promptly yelled that she hated me for moving her here, and why couldn’t I understand she just wanted to live with her grandparents.
I was seconds away from saying something I would have regretted but, thankfully, was never given the chance. Zinnie had run to her room and slammed her door, vibrating the walls around her.
I watch Sam close her eyes, take a deep breath, and count. She hits ten, her eyes open, she takes another breath and picks up Poppy, who is softly crying into a pillow on the couch.
“She’s mean,” Poppy says sullenly, laying her head on Sam’s shoulder.
“She’s sad. She doesn’t mean it. I’m sorry she hurt your feelings and I know she is, too. Try to be patient with her. Do you understand what that means?”
Poppy shakes her head and Sam hands her over to me. “Walt will explain it to you while I run your bath.”
And that’s it. She leaves me here.
I fumble it, but eventually I get Poppy to understand what it means to have patience. A feeling of accomplishment matched by none other trickles through me.
Sam calls when the tub is ready. In no time, Poppy is swimming in bubbles, my sleeves are rolled up to my elbows and I’m washing her hair. I think she would have played longer, but it is late. She has already stifled three yawns, so I pull the plug and we watch the suds swirl down the drain.
She wobbles as she steps into her favorite pajamas, pink with white bunnies. She hands me a comb and I comb the excess water out of her wet curls.
“Brush your teeth.”
She gives a feeble effort, and I make her redo.
“It’s late. We’ll read a story tomorrow,” I assure her, making sure Edward the Elephant is in his proper place against her chest. Her eyes droop and she fights to keep them open. I run my fingers through her damp hair and caress her earlobe, stunned to hear myself say, “I missed you.” Stunned even more to find it’s true.
She hugs my hand to her heart, a move that’s becoming familiar the last couple of weeks. The tips of my fingers tickling just under her chin.
“I love you,” she says before sleep carries her away. My hand freezes and I stomp down the panic attack raising in my throat at her sweet words. Her genuine words.
“Good night.” I kiss her forehead and reach to turn off a lamp that wasn’t there before I left for the weekend. A nightlight is projecting stars on her ceiling, and I see for the first time her room is different. Sam and the girls have been out shopping every day for the last two weeks. I forgot they were going to outfit the room this weekend with all the items they bought.
I’ve been watching Sam’s spending on the card I provided and it’s been minimal. I really dreaded seeing the end result, expecting the room to look like a box store and not the designer caliber I’m accustomed to. But the room I’m in now looks like a little girl’s dream.
The room is a generous size to start. They’ve sectioned it into a place for her to sleep and a place for her to spend her time. Simple strands of ribbon garland mix with strands of twinkle lights in the shapes of hearts and diamonds over her headboard. Understated but impactful. Her bedding is a plush pink linen with little pink hearts on the sheets.
What’s really eye-catching is her play area. There are cushions and fabrics spread throughout, bookcases filled with books and baskets of things for her to do. In the corner is a swing you would expect to see under a large tree with soft rope handles.
The space is filled with memories, new and old. There are pictures of her with Everett and Jenny. Pictures of them as a family. There’s a picture of Sam and her squad covered in paint with her and Zinnie. And there’s a picture of me laughing at something. It was from a week ago. Finn said something funny and I remember thinking how good it felt to laugh. I don’t know who took the picture.
I pull her door closed and walk to the other end of the hall to check on Zinnie in the hopes she has calmed down.
Sam’s voice is steady, but it’s clear she hasn’t made much headway.
“Fine. I’m sorry. But I’m not saying sorry to him,” Zinnie spews without a hint of remorse.
“Don’t say sorry unless you mean it. That’s not an apology, and you were disrespectful.”
“But I didn’t disrespect you,” Zinnie challenges.
“To disrespect Walt is to disrespect me. When you’re truly ready to apologize, you know where to find me,” Sam says without raising her voice or a change in her infliction. I have men on my team who would cower against less attitude than Zinnie is heaving her way.
Fifteen-year olds. They’re terrifying.
Sam steps into the hall. She doesn’t say it, but I can tell she’s frustrated.
“Poppy is down.”
“Great. Thank you. Good night.” She turns to walk down the hall, and I hate the unspoken precedence I’ve put into motion, of keeping her in her place. Otherwise, I would ask her what I really want to know, but am too chicken shit to ask: Will Zinnie always hate me?