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“I know.”
Her face crinkles. “I hurt Vanessa.” She bites her lip.
“You did. But you were mad and didn’t know what to do, so you did that.”
She nods.
“She will hate me now.”
“No,” I say firmly, rubbing her hands. “No, she won’t. You can say you’re sorry and I know one hundred percent she’ll forgive you.”
“I don’t like our life,” she says in a small voice.
A little bit of me breaks inside, hearing that.
I look at her tiny face, her messy hair, and give her a big hug, rubbing her back. “I know,” I say. “I know. I don’t, either.”
—
I bring her back out, holding her hand. The kitchen floor is clean now and the roast smells nice, salted and garlicked and in the oven. My dad has a scowl on his face and won’t look at me.
“Hey, girl. You okay?” Vanessa says.
Ricci looks at the ground. “I’m sorry.”
Vanessa kneels down. “I accept your apology. Maybe no more pinching when we’re upset, okay? Use our words?”
My sister nods.
“I bet you’re pretty hungry, huh?”
She hands Ricci a bear-claw pastry. “Eat this. We have a few hours to go yet.”
Ricci smiles, but kind of sadly, like she’s worn out. She takes the bear claw and nibbles. Usually, she would wolf that thing down.
My dad says, “I don’t want to see that again, okay, Ricci?” He’s wiping his hands with a dish towel.
“Dad,” I say. “Just drop it. She said she was sorry.”
He looks at me long and hard. “This is my house,” he says. “We live here now. Things are different. I need everyone to get that. Can you get that?”
“It’s an apartment, not a house,” Ricci whispers.
My dad stares at her. “It’s just an expression. You don’t have to be rude. I work very hard for what I have.”
Vanessa is twisting the dish towel in her hands. I can feel my body tensing.
My brain says:Your dad’s getting ramped up. You know how he gets.
My heart says:Be careful.
My dad looks tired. When did he start getting angry? Was it when Ricci was born? Before that, he always seemed happy, or maybe it was just me thinking that, because I was a kid and didn’t know any better. But he played games with me and sang songs on his guitar and then it was like, one day, with diapers and bottles everywhere and my mom so tired with Ricci’s crying, he just…changed. Got mad if I didn’t clean up my toys quick enough. Got annoyed with me when I couldn’t figure out a math problem, my mom in the next room, fussing with Ricci. So I started cleaning. All the time. Everything nice and neat. Toys away. Practiced my math even when I didn’t need to so I would be better at it. Wouldn’t need to bother him.I can do it,I’d tell him.I’m good at it now.
I feel like half my life has been spent smoothing things over.
“Is there something you want to say, Bella? You look like you have something to say.”
I think I forgot about a lot of that. Dad’s anger, way back then.
