Chapter 7 #2
Solo nodded. Her mom had always been a neat freak. “No doubt. And then she would’ve found a way to turn it into a teachable moment about what special mom trick could remove crayon from the wall without damaging the paint.”
There was a giggle behind her, and Solo turned around to see Tia grab a discarded crayon and dart over to a blank piece of wall near the doorframe. Once there, she continued the swirling pattern that formed the background of her masterpiece.
“Tia!” Solo cried, but it was too late. And what did it matter, really, when the whole wall would have to be repainted anyway?
Her dad chuckled. “She’s got spirit, that one,” he said then jiggled Chloe in his arms. “They all do. Creative too, just like their momma. The apple hasn’t fallen far from the tree.”
A warmth spread through Solo’s chest at the thought that at least one of her girls might be artistic like her, and it pushed against the cold ache of her loneliness.
She lifted Tia into her arms, and Tia immediately tried to decorate Solo’s face.
She disarmed the toddler and strapped her into the orange highchair by the table, then she scooped up Luna and Chloe in turn, and deposited them alongside their sister in their color-coded seats.
“That’s an ingenious idea,” her dad said, “but it makes me glad that me and your mom had you and your brother a couple years apart.”
Solo nodded. “Whenever you had new friends over, they could never tell who was who in the baby pictures.” She motioned to herself. “People still might have trouble telling the difference.”
Her dad chuckled. “I guess. Your mom never did insist you wore a dress.”
Solo didn’t miss the sadness that flicked across his eyes, but it quickly disappeared.
She wanted to say how much she missed her mom, but now wasn’t the time for that either; they’d have to fit a lot of talking around the three-hour football game.
“Watch the spider monkeys while I get dinner,” she said and headed to the kitchen.
She didn’t dawdle and quickly reheated the pasta, sauce, and meatballs before bringing them to the table, along with sippy cups full of juice for the girls and soda for her and her dad. She used a couple of wipes to clean the triplets’ hands and then served the food for them all.
He curled his lip and raised the glass of Pepsi. “I think I deserve a glass of something alcoholic.”
“Sorry.” Solo gestured to the empty liquor cabinet. “I donated it all to Gabe’s house on Monday.” She shrugged, recalling the alluring array of colorful bottles as she stared at them from the hallway floor a few nights ago. “It was a bit too much temptation for me.”
Her dad tsked. “Of course. I’m an idiot. Ignore me.”
Solo shook her head and grinned. “And besides, I think you kinda fell down on the job tonight.” She motioned to the wall.
He grumbled. “Nah, that’s nothing a trip to Home Depot can’t fix. Where’s your closest one?”
Solo shrugged. “We used Ace Hardware a few blocks away. They mixed some special colors because…” She blinked rapidly and tugged on her ear.
Because Janie wanted walls the same color as some of her books.
She focused on Luna, who seemed to be struggling with her spoon.
She’d given up and was using her fingers to pop the tiny meatballs in her mouth, but Solo had read that was still okay because it helped with sensory stimulation.
“Whatever,” her dad said. “You should make sure it’s washable though.”
Solo glanced again at the Great Wall of Crayon. “I’ll take pictures before we cover it and print them for the playroom. I want to keep everything they create. I want… I want Janie to see it.”
Her dad muttered something she didn’t catch, and she didn’t care to ask him to repeat it. If he’d wanted her to hear it, he would’ve said it louder.
“Has she answered any of your calls yet?” he asked, shaking his head slowly before he put a giant forkful of food into his mouth.
“She texted last night to apologize for not making the therapy session.” But she hadn’t offered an excuse or any promise of coming next week, even though Solo had pressed for that.
“Is she coming to see your girls over the weekend?”
Solo clenched her jaw. She’d pressed for that too, but Janie had been non-committal.
Solo was trying to give her the space she needed, but why did that mean Janie didn’t want to see their beautiful babies?
“Probably,” she said, hoping it’d be true if she believed it.
“I’ve got some light beer. We could watch the Bears and Vikings game when we’ve gotten the girls to sleep. ”
Her dad looked up from his plate at her and raised his eyebrows. “Sounds good if I don’t fall asleep before them,” he said. “They’re exhausting, and I’m rusty in the grandparenting skills department.”
“You’re doing great, Dad.” She squeezed his shoulder, relieved that he’d accepted her sledgehammer subject change. “And I’m so grateful you’re here.”
“I’m investing in an industrial-sized roll of butcher paper though.” He waved his fork at the wall. “And a straitjacket—for me. I’ve got a feeling I might need it before the week is done.”
Solo chuckled. The laughter had helped. So had her daughters’ crazy artistic antics. And her dad being there was helping too. She hadn’t forgotten the hell she was in but tonight had let her put it down just long enough to feel its absence.
But what she would’ve given to share this messy, hilarious chaos with Janie.
She swallowed hard, the emotion sticking in her throat.
She had to pull herself together for the girls.
Janie had disappeared on them physically; they didn’t need Solo doing it mentally.
She had to be present, and she had to be the best mom she could be until…
until she got Janie back. The girls needed her.
And so did Solo.