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“You didn’t tell her?” he says to me.
“Me? Dad,youshould have told her.”
“Daddy!” Ricci shouts. She stomps her bare feet on the kitchen floor. “We always go to Agnes’s. Let’s go, Daddy,now.”
Vanessa kneels down in front of Ricci. “Oh, honey, we have a nice meal here, see? It’ll be ready in a few hours. Then maybe we can go to the park. Or to a movie. I used to love to see movies on the holidays when I was little.”
Ricci starts sobbing.The Fabulous Band. My chickens. I want to see Agnes and my chickens.
“Oh, honey,” Vanessa says helplessly.
Ricci suddenly reaches out and pinches Vanessa, hard, on the arm.
Vanessa yelps, standing up and holding her arm.
The bowl of mashed potatoes drops from Dad’s hands and shatters on the floor. He slams his beer on the counter.
“It’s you,” Ricci chokes out. “It’s your fault I can’t go see my chickens.”
“Goddammit, Ricci, what is wrong with you?” our dad shouts, grabbing her thin shoulders with both hands.
“Dan,” Vanessa says sharply. She’s rubbing her arm where Ricci pinched her.
“Dad,” I say, trying to wrestle Ricci out of his grip. “Stop. Juststop.She didn’t mean it.”
He holds on and Ricci wiggles. My dad says, “Jesus Christ, Bella. You and yourmother.You couldn’t havetoldher?”
“It’s not my freaking job, Dad, it’syours.Letgoof her.”
Ricci is like a tug-of-war rope between us and then she suddenly squeals and goes limp.
There’s blood on the floor. My dad releases her and Ricci sinks to the floor, wailing, holding her foot.
I bend down, take her foot in my hand, pick out a piece of broken bowl. “I hope you’re happy now,Dad.Oh, wait, let me fix this for you, like I do everything.” I’m so mad I can barely feel it as I pick Ricci up and carry her to the bathroom, her arms wrapped around my neck. I kick the toilet seat down with my foot and set her on it gently. Then I slam the bathroom door shut as hard as I can and lock it.
Ricci is hiccup-sobbing. I dampen a washcloth and dab her foot with it.
“It’s okay,” I tell her. “Look, it’s not deep. Just a little cut. You can pick the Band-Aid, okay?”
I rummage inside the cabinet, hoping there’s a stray Band-Aid in there somewhere.
Outside the door, I can hear the scraping of the broom and dustpan across the kitchen floor, my dad and Vanessa talking in low tones.
“Did you hear her? Do you see the way she speaks to me?” he says. “I don’t understand her.”
“Well, you could have told Ricci, Dan. I would have been okay with them going to that farm, or whatever it is.”
“I deserve to have a life, too, Vanessa. They have to understand that.”
Great. Maybe now Vanessa and Dad are going to go at it like Mom and Dad used to. I thought we were done with all that, but I guess not.
I grit my teeth as I hand Ricci a Band-Aid and watch her peel off the protective layer and gently lay the bandage across the cut on her foot.
I get a fresh washcloth and wipe her damp face.
“I’m sorry we aren’t going to Agnes’s this time,” I tell her, stroking her hair. “Next year we will. That’s how it happens, remember? Now we trade holidays every year. One year we have Thanksgiving with Dad, the next year with Mom. Same for Christmas. Our birthdays. This year we’ll be with Mom for Christmas, next year Dad.”
“I don’t like it,” she whispers, rubbing her pajama bottoms. “It’s too much to remember.”
