Adventures In Parenthood. Dawn Atkins

oak floor, the play corner with toys in bright buckets. Such a happy place. Such a happy family.

      Gone now. A gloom seemed to fall over the room, dimming the colors, making the toys shabby, the furniture cold.

      She turned to Dixon, and their eyes met. He looked sad and lost. Exactly like her. She turned to the girls and dropped to her knees. “I need hugs.” She held out her arms, hoping she could keep from crying. Sienna gave her a quick, hard squeeze. Gymnastics and martial arts had turned the girl into solid muscle.

      Ginger wrapped her thin arms around Aubrey’s neck and clung to her, giving Aubrey time to breathe in her feather-fine hair, which smelled of bubblegum shampoo, French fries and the sweet salt of little-girl sweat.

      When Ginger let go, Aubrey wanted to say, I love you, I missed you, I’m so glad to see you, but her throat was too tight.

      “Why are you crying?” Sienna asked, staring at her with her sharp blue eyes.

      “I’m just happy to be here.”

      “Happy doesn’t make you cry,” Sienna insisted.

      She wears me out, Brianna had said about Sienna. She won’t let any question go unanswered. She probes and pokes and demands. Just like you used to.

      “Better let Scout out,” Aubrey said to shift Sienna’s attention.

      Ginger was already at the zipper.

      “No fair,” Sienna said. “You carried her. I get to unzip.” Sienna was clearly the take-charge twin.

      The carrier open, Scout jumped out and shook herself indignantly, wiggling each paw, then her tail.

      “She prefers to come to you,” she reminded them.

      “We know,” Sienna said. The girls sat poised, hands out, eyes so eager Aubrey had to smile. Scout obliged them by delicately sniffing their fingertips, then rubbing her cheek against them.

      “She remembers us,” Ginger said. “She’s showing us she loves us.”

      “She’s putting her smell on us,” Sienna said. “It’s animal in-stink. That’s what Jessica says. Cats and dogs are animals. They don’t do people things like cuddle and kiss and love.”

      “Scout does,” Ginger insisted. “Look in her eyes. That is l-o-v-e, love.”

      Aubrey remembered a similar disagreement with Brianna, who’d been convinced that the ducks at the park recognized them, while Aubrey was certain they only saw bread crumbs. Brianna had always had more heart than Aubrey.

      The night their mother died, Brianna had held their mother’s hand and whispered to her. Brianna had been there, brave and strong. Aubrey had run away. It still shamed her.

      Scout jumped onto Aubrey’s lap. The cat stayed close when Aubrey was upset, purring wildly as if to soothe whatever ailment Aubrey suffered.

      “Will she do her tricks for us?” Ginger asked.

      “She’s got to get familiar with your house first.” Scout could give a high-five, fetch things, drink from a glass and play dead.

      Aubrey’s thoughts began to buzz like angry bees. It can’t be true. Brianna can’t be dead. The girls can’t go through this. Please, no, Brianna. We can’t go on without you.

      “You okay?” Dixon asked softly.

      “I’m fine.” She forced a smile, then turned to the girls. “How about you open your gifts?” She plopped the bag between them, delaying the bad news a little longer.

      The girls reached in from opposite sides of the sack, orange hair against wheat, then lifted out the boxes, looking through the clear plastic at the contents.

      “Rollerblades,” Aubrey said. “What do you think?”

      “Cool,” Sienna said.

      “It’s too hard for us,” Ginger said, scrunching her nose. “Remember that big kid in the park with blood all down his arms?”

      “We’ll get pads for your elbows and knees,” Aubrey said. “You’ll wear your bike helmets, too. You’ll be safe.”

      “Daddy took the helmets back. He didn’t know what you were thinking,” Sienna said. “The bikes are put away for when we’re bigger.”

      “You’re big enough,” she said, irritated by Howard’s attitude. “You girls are gymnasts. You have crazy balance. People on my blog told me a cool way to learn. Easy-breezy.”

      “Easy-breezy?” Ginger repeated eagerly.

      “Easy-breezy. I brought my bike, so once you learn, we can ride together in the park. Won’t that be fun?” Her voice cracked, but she had to give them something to look forward to, something to soften the coming blow.

      She glanced at Dixon, who looked totally bereft. They had to get this over with. Her mouth was so dry she wasn’t sure she could get out the words. “Listen, girls, we need to talk to you about—”

      “First, ice cream,” Dixon blurted, cutting her off. “Your aunt came early, so we should celebrate. Help me scoop, Aubrey.” He grabbed Aubrey’s arm and stood, pulling her up with him.

      “Ice cream?” Sienna stopped tearing into the box and stared at Dixon. “But we already had milkshakes. Ginger will upchuck.”

      “We’ll make it small, just a taste. Because your aunt surprised us.” He headed for the kitchen, pulling Aubrey by the arm, Sienna’s suspicious eyes burning holes in their backs.

      “Ice cream? Really?” Aubrey whispered, once they reached the kitchen. “You want them to link ice cream with their parents’ death?”

      “I need to try Constance again. She’ll know the best approach.” He pushed buttons on his phone.

      “We don’t need an approach, Dixon. We should tell them flat out. Use simple words. They’ll react, and we’ll try to give them comfort.” Dixon wanted magic words, but there were none. She’d learned that when her mother died.

      At least you were eighteen. They’re only four.

      She clenched her fists, dug her nails into her palms to keep from crying.

      “Bowls are to the left of the sink,” Dixon said, the phone to his ear. “Chocolate chip for Ginger. Strawberry for Sienna.”

      She opened the freezer, the blast of cold air pleasant against her face, where nervous sweat had trickled down her temples. The freezer was jammed with plastic containers and big Baggies, each labeled with a dish—lasagna, chicken cacciatore, Chinese noodle casserole.... It looked like Jessica’s mother had been helping out the bachelor babysitter.

      Rummaging around, she found the ice cream and scooped out servings for the girls, sheepishly aware that he had known their favorite flavors, while she had no clue. Aubrey wasn’t part of the girls’ daily lives the way he was, and it was her own fault.

      In the background, she heard the girls putting on their rollerblades. When she’d finished scooping, she stared at the family photos on the fridge—the girls with Mickey Mouse at Disneyland, the family playing miniature golf, the twins in leotards on the balance beam, doing a kata in martial arts gi.

      She should have been here more, been part of all this. Don’t wallow. You’ll spend more time. You’ll pay more attention. You’ll—

      She felt an icicle stab to the heart. Who will raise the girls?

      Aubrey or Dixon. They were the only choices. Dixon’s mother, Lorraine, was older and traveled a lot, according to Brianna. Just like you, Aubrey thought queasily.

      How could Aubrey manage it? She couldn’t move the girls to L.A. where she shared a tiny apartment with an actress-slash-cocktail waitress. She would have to move to Phoenix. And what about her travel, all the promotion she’d have to do if she got the sponsorship?