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“Of course she doesn’t like that,” Marianne muttered, stalking through and pretending to look at some scrunchies on a circular rack.
“My stance,” Lydia said, “is that if I wore it the first time around, I don’t have to wear it this time.”
“I like scrunchies,” Marianne said, grabbing a couple off the rack and sticking them in the shopping cart.
“I remember you used to have a giant Tupperware full of them.”
“And you used to steal them.”
“I did,” Lydia said. “Until a certain point, when you legitimately terrified me, and I thought you might actually murder me.”
“Right. About Ava’s age, I believe.”
Ava and Dahlia were now conferring over clothing.
“Yes.”
“I don’t know what to do. To stop her from turning into a monster.” She grimaced. “Sorry. I shouldn’t unload my crap onto you.”
“Please,” Lydia said. “Unload your parenting crap on me.”
“You have enough to deal with.”
She huffed a laugh. “I don’t really have anything to deal with. Mac is gone. There’s nothing I can do about it.”
“You don’t have to do that, Lydia. You don’t have to be... Mom and Dad.”
“I’m not Mom and Dad,” Lydia said.
“Not at all? You’re not... Holding things together because you think you have to be tough?”
Lydia rolled her eyes and grabbed a pair of heart-shaped sunglasses off of the round rack, putting them on. “I’m holding it together because what’s the other option? Lying on the ground? Falling apart?”
“I like a good tantrum,” Marianne said.
“And if I need to have one, I will let you know. I promise. But in the meantime, having you not treat me like an alien would be good. Have you seen the way Ruby looks at me?”
“Like she wants to hug you and cry and put you in a pouch and carry you around?”
“Yes. That’s the look.”
“I did notice.”
“I don’t want that. I do enjoy her taking the kids to look at the toys, though.”
“Yeah.”
“I’m grateful that right now their problems can be solved so easily.” She stared at Marianne until Marianne was forced to stare back. “But something is up with Ava?”
Marianne tried to breathe past the tightness in her stomach. Lydia had said it. The thing that Marianne had been avoiding outright admitting to herself. That it was possible she was losing touch with her daughter as profoundly as her own parents had lost touch with her. And she’d never wanted that. It had been her motherhood nightmare, and she’d been scared for a few months that she was dancing on the edges of that.
“I just... I don’t know.” She pressed against her sternum, trying to ease the tension there. “I know how emotional and depressing being a teenage girl can be. And Mom and Dad just... They never handled it very well.”
“I know,” Lydia said. “Though, I don’t know that I did either.”
“You were my sister. You weren’t supposed to handle my... Depression or whatever.”
“Were you on drugs?”
