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This time, I can’t hide the sneaky chuckle that escapes me, and I nod. “Yeah, that’s like a lot, a lot.”
“Yeah. I knew it was, but he still forgets.”
“I think Angel is very pretty too, isn’t it?”
Victoria scrunches up her forehead just like her dad does and puckers her lips like she is thinking very hard. “It is, but mermaids are so much better.”
“I guess they are,” is all I can come up with in response because I don’t know how to talk to kids! What do I say? What if I curse in front of her? My mouth has no filter. And now I am sweating because she is just staring at me.
Wake up, Vassar. Wake the fuck up.I mentally chant to myself.
“Um, did you sleep good?”
“I don’t think so,” she says, and my eyebrows lift.
“You didn’t? Why? Did you have a nightmare?”Stop projecting your own issues onto a kid, Kira.
“It tried to come, but I put it in time out,” she answers in all seriousness.
“Time out?”
“Yep. That’s what daddy told me to do when they try to come. Sometimes, they don’t listen, though, and it makes me cry. But that’s a secret”—she points her little finger at me—“you can’t tell daddy about it. I only told you because you are also a mermaid, and mermaids don’t keep secrets from each other. But if daddyknew that my mom comes to me at night, and it makes me cry, he will be sad, and I don’t like to see him sad.”
I blink and blink as this little girl watches me intently, and I motion to my mouth, zipping it and throwing away the key. I think I saw someone do this in a movie somewhere, and apparently, Vee approves because she nods and smiles. But I can’t pretend I didn’t hear what she just said.
About her mom being her nightmare. And something squishes painfully inside my chest.
What did that woman do to her? To this perfect little angel. Excuse me, mermaid.
“My mom also comes to me in nightmares.” The words slip out of my mouth. They are hushed, and I don’t know what possesses me to say them out loud, but Victoria looks up to me, biting the inside of her cheek.
“She does? Was she a bad mom like mine was?” Another squeeze.
“Yeah, she was.” Crap, maybe I am not supposed to say those things to a five-year-old?
“I heard some girls in school talk about their moms. They said they took them to the park and had tea parties. They said they went shopping together.” Her eyes are two wide saucers like that would be some unimaginable, wild thing to do with your mother, and my heart breaks for her.
Because I know the feeling all too well.
“Did your mom take you?”
“No,” I answer her, shaking my head. “She didn’t.”
“Yeah, mine didn’t either. Daddy tried to. He took me to the store where they sold big girl clothes and nothing fit. He was sad that it was the wrong store, and I never asked him to go again. I don’t like it when my dad is sad. He was always sad when mom was around, and I don’t want to be like her. I don’t want to make him sad.”
Fuck. I haven’t asked this question in many years, but here it is, slipping into my mind once again. Why is this world so cruel and unfair? Why does a five-year-old angel have to carry the weight of the world on her little shoulders?
“Vee, I don’t think you could ever make your dad sad. You are the best mermaid I have ever seen, and he is very lucky to have you.”
“You think so?” she asks, full of hope, and there’s that third painful squeeze.
“Definitely.” She smiles and I decide to change the subject before I go pouring out my heart to a five-year-old. “So, if you didn’t have a nightmare, why couldn’t you sleep good?”
She purses her lips and looks away from me. “Promise you won’t be mad?”
“Why would I be mad?” My brows pull together.
“Because moms always get mad when I say something bad.”
