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She reached for a sheet she’d washed earlier and saw her dad frown.
“Why are you washing Molly’s bedding? Mrs. Cameron should be doing that.”
“Molly spilled her drink.” The lie emerged with an ease that probably should have worried her, but didn’t. She’d promised her sister that she wouldn’t tell anyone she’d wet the bed for the fourth night in a row. The only way to keep that promise was to launder the sheets herself.
Did her dad even know that Molly crawled into Izzy’s bed in the middle of the night when she’d wet her own, bringing with her a zoo of soft toys? It had started in those early weeks and then become a habit. Every night Izzy, drunk from lack of sleep, helped wash her sister and change her pajamas, then tucked her up in her own bed along with Dizzy the Giraffe. Molly would immediately fall asleep, but Izzy would lie there awake for hours, often drifting off only as the sun started to rise. She was tired at school and her grades were slipping. Twice she’d fallen asleep at her desk, and sometimes she walked into furniture.
Some of her friends had taken to calling her Dizzy Izzy. It didn’t do anything for her mood to be given the same name as her sister’s soft toy.
They had no idea what her life was like, and neither had her dad, and she had no intention of talking about it. She’d learned more about people since her mother died than in her entire life before that. She’d learned that people focused mostly on their own lives, not other people’s. And when they did think about other people, it was mostly in relation to themselves. Her friends didn’t think about her life, except when watching Molly meant that she had to say no to something they’d arranged. It wasn’t intentional or malicious. It was carelessness. Thoughtlessness. Those two human characteristics that caused more pain than the words suggested they should.
Was bringing a woman home thoughtlessness, too?
Izzy didn’t know much about anything, but she knew it wouldn’t be good for Molly to see another woman in the house. She didn’t feel great about it, either.
In that moment she missed her mother so badly she couldn’t breathe. She wanted to turn the clock back. There was so much she wished she’d said and done. No one had ever told her it was possible to feel angry and sad at the same time.
She remembered the night before her mother had died. After their terrible fight, her mother had swept into the room to let her know they were going out.
Her dark hair had been swept up in an elegant knot, and her black dress had flowed in a silken sweep to the floor. Izzy had badly wanted to continue their conversation, only this time without the shouting, but before she could speak her father had stepped into the room and the moment had passed.
Izzy had felt frustration and anxiety, but had promised herself she’d make her mother talk about it the next day. But there had been no next day. Her mother had collapsed suddenly from an undetected aneurysm in her brain. She’d died before she reached the hospital.
Their world had collapsed that night. For Izzy it had remained in ruins, but apparently her father had been busy rebuilding his.
“It’s dinner, Izzy. That’s all. She isn’t sharing my bed. She’s not moving in. But I like her.” He hesitated. “I
like her a lot and I think you and Molly will, too.”
Izzy knew for sure she wouldn’t like her. There was no way, no way, she was ready to see her father with anyone else. Where would that leave her? Where would she fit in that scenario? Right now her dad needed her. Would that change if he had another woman in his life?
“How long have you been dating?” She tried to mimic his calm. “How did you meet her?”
“Remember the flowers I bought for your birthday? She’s a florist. She made that bouquet you loved so much.”
Izzy had loved the bouquet. It had made her feel ridiculously grown-up. She’d considered it thoughtful, but now she discovered that the choice had been driven by someone else’s thought. The gift shrank in her head.
“You’ve been seeing her since my birthday?”
“We went for a coffee that day. She’s been through tough times, too. She was about the same age as Molly when she lost her mother.”
That wasn’t good news. She’d think she understood them, and she most certainly didn’t. Families, Izzy decided, were the most complex things on the planet. “But you’ve seen her more than that one time.”
“She works near my office. I’ve seen her for lunch a few times.”
A few times. Enough times to want to bring her home to meet the family.
“You never mentioned it.”
“There was nothing to mention.”
“But now there is.”
Her father put the towels down. “I know this is difficult, and sensitive, but I’m asking you to keep an open mind.”
Molly had only just stopped crying herself to sleep. Would it all start again if her dad brought someone home? “So what? You want me to run round the house taking down all the pictures of Mom?”
He rubbed his fingers over his forehead. “No, I don’t want that. Your mother will always be part of our lives.” He let his hand drop. “You’ve turned the same color as those white sheets you’re holding. Are you doing okay, Izzy? Really?”
