Chapter 8 #2
Everest whispers something I can’t hear from the door and a small, almost reluctant, smile appears on Ivy’s face. I think it might be the first time she’s smiled all week.
Irritation skitters across my skin. Everest is good with her.
He always has been. He can make her smile and laugh when no one else can, not even her parents.
I’m not too proud to admit that he’s probably better with her than I am.
But then, I shouldn’t be surprised. Emotionally, he’s closer to her age than to mine.
“Knock knock.” When they both turn to look at me with matching wide-eyed expressions, my heart thuds hard against my ribs.
This is us now. For better or worse, this is who we are.
The weight of that reality sits heavily on my chest and it takes a moment for me to draw in a full breath. “Dinner’s ready.”
To his credit, Everest immediately climbs out of the blanket fort. “Come on, Ivy-bear, let’s see what Uncle Owen’s whipped up for dinner, ‘kay?” He reaches back to help Ivy out, but she doesn’t budge.
“I’m not hungry.” She burrows deeper into the mess of blankets and stuffed animals.
Everest glances uneasily in my direction. “I bet it’s really yummy, though, right?”
“It’s Asian stir fry. The same kind your mommy used to make.”
My comment hangs in the air for a split second before Ivy lets out a high-pitched whine and thrashes around, fists pummeling her poor animals. Fucking hell. Why did I have to mention her mommy?
Everest shoots me a glare, as if I purposefully set out to upset Ivy.
“Ives! Ivy-bear! Ivy-poo! Hey, hey, it’s okay. It’s not exactly the same as your mommy’s. No one could make it as good as your mommy did. Uncle Owen just made his own version of it.”
“I don’t wanna! I don’t wanna!”
“That’s okay. You don’t have to have any if you don’t want to.”
What? No. Of course she needs to eat. We can’t let her skip meals just because she’s in a bad mood. I step in closer and crouch down next to Everest.
“Ivy, you have to eat dinner.”
Everest elbows me out of the way and the only thing keeping me from pushing him back is the fact that we’re right in front of our niece.
“Yeah, but you don’t have to eat anything you don’t want, ‘kay?”
“Everest,” I grit out between clenched teeth. We can’t let her dictate her own meals. What if she wants cookies for dinner? Or ice cream for breakfast? She needs a healthy, balanced diet.
“What do you want for dinner, Ives? Listen to your tummy. What does it want?” Everest puts his hand on her rounded stomach and Ivy puts both of her hands on top of his. Together, her two hands are barely the same size as one of his.
She makes a concentrated listening face before announcing. “Chicken nuggets. My tummy wants chicken nuggets.”
“Chicken nuggets!” Everest exclaims like it’s the best food in the world. “I love chicken nuggets!”
I suppress a groan. Of course Everest loves chicken nuggets. Child. “We’re not having chicken nuggets. There aren’t any in the house, to begin with. And also, they’re not good for you.”
In fact, chicken nuggets are gross. There’s no telling what kind of shit they put in those things. I know Eden didn’t like feeding them to Ivy. But I also know she and Jeremy sometimes gave in because, well, kids.
“But they’re not bad for you.” Everest shoots daggers at me with his eyes. “Better to have chicken nuggets than nothing at all.”
Ivy joins him with the full weight of a six-year-old’s glare. “Yeah, chicken nuggets or nothing.”
I honestly, genuinely sputter, not sure how I’m supposed to respond. “But I’ve already made Asian stir fry.” I want to smack myself in the forehead. What was I hoping to accomplish with that statement? It’s not like either of these two are going to listen to me.
Everest rolls his eyes and opens his arms to Ivy. “Let’s go find some chicken nuggets.”
She quickly launches herself into his arms. “With lots of ketchup.”
“We’ll drown them in ketchup.” Everest picks her up and carries her out of the room.
I hurry after them. “Where are you going?”
“To find chicken nuggets!” Everest points into the distance like they’re about to embark on an adventure.
“To find chicken nuggets!” Ivy shouts.
“But…” My protest dies on my lips. But what about the stir fry I made?
Everest and Ivy are already at the front door and he’s helping her into her shoes and coat. He throws a smirk at me. “We’ll pick you up some too.”
I don’t dignify his comment with a response. Instead, I cross my arms defensively over my chest as my insides twist with jealousy and pain.
The door closes behind them and I stare at it for several long seconds before I head back to the kitchen.
The stir fry is still in the wok, covered to keep it warm. So much for cooking. So much for sharing our first dinner together. Why did I even bother? What was the point of trying?
We’re not really a family. I’m not really a parent. Ivy would rather be with fun Uncle Everest than boring Uncle Owen. Everest and I can barely stand each other.
I was delusional, thinking that tonight matters, that it means something, that it’s important. It’s not. This whole farce is doomed and all I should hope for is to simply get through each day.
I go to the refrigerator and pull open the freezer. The tub of salted caramel ice cream sits in the corner and I send up a silent thank you to Mom. Somehow, she knew I would need this. I rip off the lid, grab a spoon, and dig in.