Enzo
I watched, slack-jawed and a little afraid, as Harper inhaled the snack Martina made for her. Normally, Harper spoke a thousand miles a minute, but with Martina’s food, it was crickets.
It was a sandwich, peanut butter and white marshmallow fluff, and some other kid-friendly food I had never seen before.
“Remind me never to let her get too hungry,” Donovan muttered. “She might take a finger off.”
“I like chicken fingers,” Harper said, finally coming up for air. “And French fries. They’re so yummy.”
I nodded, watching as Harper shoved so much food in her mouth that her cheeks were puffed with it. Donovan maneuvered the car through the city, honking periodically when someone seemingly forgot how to drive, until we hit the highway.
“What’s in that?” I asked, risking my life as I leaned to take a peek.
“Goodness.” She rubbed her stomach. “I have energy now.”
“Want to throw around the ball?” I asked. There was a rugby ball somewhere in the house from the last time Marcello and Rafael were around.
“I’m a great kicker. I always get picked first for kicking games at school,” Harper said and drank some juice.
Hearing that gave me some relief. I saw how the moms at the school treated Serena—like there was something wrong with her—and was worried it translated over to how the kids treated Harper.
If it was the case, I was prepared to throw my weight around. I’d never played school politics or whatever manipulations were done in the education system, but I could learn.
I put my arm over the headrest and leaned in. “That’s great. This game has kicking and throwing.”
“Oh my gosh. That’s so exciting. I can catch too.” Harper jumped in her seat.
Her excitement filled the car. For the rest of the car ride, I held Harper’s attention, telling her the basic rules of rugby. I knew being around Harper would be amazing. She was part of Serena, so that was a given.
There was always a tiny piece of me that worried Harper wouldn’t like me. With each smile she gave me, it was like I’d won a prize or something. I wanted to keep winning her smiles and giggles right alongside her mother.
Traffic was unusually light, and we pulled up to the house faster than normal.
“What do you want for dinner?” I asked as I opened the car door and unbuckled Harper from her seat.
“Mac and cheese,” she said. I should have guessed that. I’d spent four days with her, and she had mac and cheese for lunch and dinner for each of them. She tried breakfast, but I had to put my foot down.
I had a plan tonight to introduce her to other kinds of noodles. I was oddly excited about it.
When we walked through the door, both of us seemed to have a one-track mind. We searched for Serena.
We never had to try hard to find her. Since she got her new studio, she lost track of time, and we dragged her out three days in a row.
I followed Harper as she veered into the living room and nearly stepped on her when she suddenly stopped. I looked over at the body on the couch.
Serena lay on the couch with a dark eye mask on and an iced pack on her neck. All the curtains were drawn; only a little light seeped through the edges.
Panic lanced through my body. Did I need to call a doctor? Take her to the hospital? Did I have any medication in the house? What was wrong with her?
“Shh.” Harper put a finger to her mouth. “It’s quiet time. Mommy’s head hurts.”
Harper tiptoed out of the room and waved at me to come with her.
“It’s a migraine. I’ll get up in a minute,” Serena said so low I almost missed it. She was in pain. I could hear it in her voice.
I went to her spot on the couch and bent down. “What do you need?”
“Migraine meds, a dark room, sleep, and water,” She said.
“Got it.” I slid one arm under her back and the other under her legs.
“What are you doing?” she gasped, pulling the mask off her eyes to glare at me.
They were bloodshot. She was pale, and I needed to do something useful to help her feel better.
I brought her to my room, and placed her on the bed, under the covers. Closing all the blinds, making sure there wasn’t an ounce of light penetrating the room, I went to the bathroom and Googled how to help with migraines.
After reading through the recommendations, I pulled out two headache pills, a cold damp towel, and a glass of water, and brought them back to her.
“Try this,” I said, rolling the peppermint scented concoction onto her temple and the back of her neck.
It had headache relief on the label, something I’d kept on hand for my own occasional headaches.
“Sleep. I’ll bring you up a cold bottle of water and a sports drink, and keep dinner warm for you for whenever you wake up. ”
Serena only nodded. The pain had to be significant if she was struggling to speak.
I closed the door behind me and went to find Harper, who was watching TV in the living room.
“Is Mommy okay?” she asked. “Does she need me to doctor her? I’m a great doctor.”
For some reason, that comment was a punch to the gut.
They had been alone, Serena constantly taking care of Harper regardless of how she felt.
I’d known it was like this, but facing a real example—wondering how Serena handled barely being able to stand and still do everything Harper needed—brought it into focus.
“Yeah, she’s okay. I helped her. Is that okay?”
Harper sighed. “It’s fine, but you’re not better than me. I'm the bestest.”
I nodded. “Yeah, you’re way better than me at this. Maybe you can tell me what you do to help Mommy while we cook dinner. How does that sound?” I asked.
Harper nodded, which was a relief because if Harper was upset or didn’t want to do something, good luck to anyone who tried to convince her otherwise.
Something vibrated. I touched my pocket, but it wasn’t my phone. A devilish smile lit up Harper’s face as she pulled out a phone from under her and answered.
She tapped the screen and yelled, “Who this?”
“Hi,” an unfamiliar woman’s voice said on the other end. “I’m looking for Serena Washington, the designer.”
“Yeah,” I called out as I took the phone from Harper, who only giggled. “This is the right number. How can we help?”
I listened, grabbed a pen and piece of paper, and wrote down what this woman wanted and her contact information.
“Do you have an estimate?” she asked.
“No. All projects are custom-made. I’ll have Serena contact you,” I answered.
Serena’s phone went off again. And again.
By the time I finished playing Serena’s secretary, I’d filled multiple pages with people wanting Serena’s work.
“Your mom works too hard,” I said absentmindedly to Harper.
“Yeah. Mommy’s the best.” Harper agreed. “Food. Food.”
“Fine. Let’s see what we have.” We went to the kitchen and opened the fridge.
“There’s nothing in there,” Harper said.
“Yeah. Let’s order out.” I grabbed my phone and sent our order to Donovan. I knew what Harper and Serena liked. We had ordered before, and reciting every menu item to Harper—who made a barfing sound at each one before I was finished saying it—was an event I’d rather avoid.
“Food ordered, what should we do now?” I asked.
“I have an idea.” Harper ran off.
I followed, knowing I’d follow the Washington girls anywhere they wanted me.