Chapter 33 Lurielle #3
She snatched the truck back. “Mine turn!” When the selkie lunged to take the truck again, Kora held out her hand, little green palm in his face. “Wait turn!”
Tate nearly choked on his laughter, hiding it behind his palm as Lurielle turned with a grim smile of her own. “Fierce little mite.”
She nodded in satisfaction, sitting back in her chair, crossing her arms, watching the little selkie toddle back to his perfect mother, already pointing. She saw Yanna’s head raise, frowning.
“They have to be.”
After that day, Lurielle paid attention.
Wherever Kora was, the little boy would be there, crowding her, trying to take whatever toy she was holding, pushing her out of the way on the slide.
Once, he had shoved Kora out of line for snack, incurring the wrath of Tate’s tiny daughter, who’d stood with her hands on her hips, telling him he wasn’t being very kind.
The fact that Tate’s daughter spoke in complete sentences and enunciated as well as an adult drove the point home. Yanna had flushed, gathering her little one up, vaguely insinuating that it wasn’t polite to call names.
“I don’t believe stating the obvious is name-calling.” Tate’s voice was light, but pointed, taking Aelin by the hand.
Yanna had turned away, laughing tightly, her silvery dark eyes flashing. “They’re just figuring it out. I’m so glad they have this space to do so.”
The following week, Lurielle considered skipping playgroup altogether. She waffled with indecision, hemming and hawing until they reached the time where making a decision was no longer negotiable, packing the kids up in the car with a sigh.
Why would you stay home? Why would you let some other little punk bully her away from going to play with her friend?
Lurielle cringed at herself. She knew it was inappropriate to think of another toddler in such a way, another baby, and that’s all they were.
It’s not his fault that his mother is more worried about signing him up for meditative stretching than teaching him how to share.
The air in the colorful little room felt as tight as piano wire as they entered, only five minutes late. You’re being ridiculous. The air is tight with the smell of cheddar frogs and diapers, be serious.
Kael went instantly to the marble run, as soon as Lurielle let go of his hand.
Kora wriggled like a fish until she slid down Lurielle’s body, setting off towards the blocks.
A quick scan of the room showed her all of the usual suspects, Yanna holding court at the center of a semicircle of chairs, the other parents orbiting her as if she were the sun, like a benevolent goddess of iced matcha and activewear.
Lurielle could see Tate’s little girl in the castle as she dragged over a chair for herself.
“Silva said you labeled all of her cupboards.”
Tate snorted, rolling his eyes. “Her cupboards needed it. She had pasta and cling wrap on the same shelf. How’s one meant to find the biscuits when they’re behind the olives? I need a new project. That’s all.”
Lurielle considered that. She also liked having a project, like her ever-expanding flower garden. “What was your last project?”
His head cocked, thinking. “The restaurant.”
Typical. “You know, most people mean, like, ‘I’m to paint the garage this weekend,’ when they say they need a project.” Lurielle was also a perfectionist overachiever, but type A overachievers were a different breed.
He laughed. “That’s not a project. And I’m not most people.”
They were distracted, and of course, that was when it happened.
A small body fell off the ledge of the climbing structure on the side of the castle, tumbling down, landing with a soft thud.
Instantly, Lurielle was on her feet, sucking in a panicked breath.
Kael was still at the marble run, and Kora was in line for the slide.
Tate was on his feet as well, his eyes searching out Aelin, finding her at the table with the tea set, holding a stuffed animal.
It was Yanna’s little boy, Lurielle could see.
The little selkie’s cries split the room, and his mother leapt up from her chair, her head rising belatedly.
Lurielle winced. Regardless of whether or not she liked the kid or his mother, she never wanted to see anyone’s baby hurt. His mouth was bleeding, she could tell, but fortunately, it didn’t appear to be worse than a cut lip.
“What did he do to his shoes?” one of the other mothers asked. “No wonder you fell, buddy! You’re all knotted up here!”
Tate was still standing, Lurielle realized, his eyes tight, locked on Aelin. “She’s okay,” she assured him. “That’s the first thing I did, too. Look for mine.”
He didn’t answer, nor did he sit. Aelin, Lurielle realized, was staring right back, unblinking, her eyes wide and innocent.
When she crossed the room to press herself against her father’s side, Lurielle watched the way he took her face in one long-fingered hand, turning it up to meet his eyes again.
He said nothing, but they stared at each other, long and silent.
She didn’t know why it left her discomfited.
She understood the impulse to check over one’s own child, obviously.
Her eyes immediately sought out Kora and Kael, ensuring they were safe.
Ensuring they were not the ones who had fallen.
Whatever this was . . . it wasn’t that. You’re being silly.
He’s been nothing but nice since he’s been back, and you’re being specist.
Even so, it was a relief when playgroup ended that day, and she quickly hustled her two little ones across the parking lot, sighing when they were in the car.
“Know what I think we should do next week?” she asked, pulling out of the community center parking lot. “Let’s skip playgroup. Maybe we’ll go to the zoo.”
If nothing else, some distance between her children and Yanna’s little boy would be welcome, Lurielle told herself. There was no other reason.
And if there is, you’re being ridiculous.