Tatie was in her room, light on, door open.
I went to the kitchen to tidy up margarita glasses while Buck headed to the living room to grab spent bottles of beer.
“Was a good night,” he said.
“The best,” I replied happily.
I felt his eyes on me, but I didn’t look at him.
I had to get used to happy.
He had to get used to making me happy.
Because life was going to get hard again somewhere along the way.
But we’d always have this.
Cleaning margarita glasses and picking up beer bottles with the kids doing their thing.
Happy.
His phone rang, and I looked at him when I heard it.
He was dumping bottles in the recycling at the same time checking his screen.
His gaze lifted to mine.
“Kristy,” he murmured.
Hells bells.
I nodded.
“Takin’ it in the office,” he said.
I nodded again, glad, whatever that would bring (although I wished he didn’t have to shoulder it, at least, after the night we had with my friend and his kids), the kids didn’t have to hear it.
He took off.
I finished with the margarita stuff and wandered to Tatie’s room.
I knocked on the doorframe, seeing she was in bed with her journal.
I also saw that, with just a little, we’d made a lot.
She had new tassel-trimmed sheets that were cute. A pretty tapestry tacked up behind her bed. Funky trays and stands on her dresser where she could put her jewelry. Some framed graphic art on her wall. One that was white and said No Bad Days in black. One that said Stay Rad in multi-colors. A smattering of throw rugs on the floor. Pretty square baskets she’d set on their sides to build a kind of shelving unit, in which she’d put her books and some knickknacks.
It was finally a teenage girl’s room. Eclectic, but lived-in and warm with lots of style.
I loved it for her.
I also loved she spent time there but did it with the door open. Not closing us out. But liking to be in her space, with the way open to her family.
“Hey,” she said. “I like Tia. She rocks.”
I smiled at her and took that as an invitation to walk in.
“Maybe we can talk her into going shopping with us tomorrow,” I suggested. “It’s never too early to think of Christmas.”
“So Clara,” she muttered as I sat on the side of her bed, her gaze on me and it was glittering. “All organized and shit.”
I shrugged.
“I’m not gonna say no to shopping,” she said. “But we should buy pumpkins and carve them.”
That sounded much better.
“I’m down with that.”
She grinned at me.
“You feel like talking?” I asked.
Her head tipped to the side, her lustrous hair tipping with it.
“About what?”
“Whatever you want,” I offered.
She looked at me, long and hard, before she patted the bed at her side.
I shifted and got in bed with her, both of us up against the headboard, legs out straight.
She looked at my hand.
Then she took my hand and fiddled with my fingers.
I didn’t know what to make of this, but I kept my silence and let Tatiana take her time in telling me.
Eventually, she whispered, “Don’t be mad.”
Oh boy.
I forced my tone to be light when I asked, “Mad about what?”
Her gaze came to mine and she kept whispering when she said, “I talk to Debbie.”
This was not what I expected.
“Sorry?”
“I mean, it’s never happened to you,” she said like it was a confession.
But I understood.
“Honey, I’m not mad you talk to Debbie.”
“You’re not?” Now she sounded surprised.
“Of course not, Tatie. I arranged it so you could meet so you’d have someone who got it to talk to. But beyond that, you’re free to do what you want, spend time with who you want, make friends with who you want, live your life how you want.” I paused and added, “Within your father’s rules, that is.”
She seemed bemused.
“So you’re not mad that I lean on Debbie and not you?”
All right, maybe I wished I’d got another smack in with her mother that afternoon.
Tatiana totally didn’t know how to do this.
I’d never even had a mother and I knew more than she did.
“No, I’m not mad. Not even a little bit. I’m glad. I’m glad you have someone to talk to about what happened to you. I’m glad you have people who care about you and you know it. I’m glad you have anything that makes you happy or makes you feel protected or looked after and loved.”
“Okay,” she said softly.
“Can I ask you a question?” I requested.
“Shoot,” she invited.
“Why didn’t you do up your room before we did it together?”
After I asked this, her eyes moved around the room.
And when she spoke, she spoke to the room.
“We moved up here, way before they broke up. Dad wanted to make the move before Gear and me got deep in school so we didn’t move when we were in the middle of making friends. But I think mostly,” she turned her head to me, “he did it to give Mom a cool house. She was never happy with, like, anything. Dad liked to be around his brothers. He didn’t wanna be on the road goin’ back and forth to home when he could be with his family. But Mom was always talkin’ about havin’ land. Dad getting us a cabin somewhere so we could ‘escape.’ So he found this and got it. For her.”