Other People's Houses(11)
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Ava was angry, and Frances had no idea why. She had no way of knowing if her daughter was angry with her, or with someone else, or just furious at the world in general. Not that it mattered. Ava often came boiling out of school ready to fight, as if she’d been simmering ever since drop-off, and had planned everything she needed to say for a convincing victory and the ultimate vanquishing of the adult world. But then she just sat there, letting her silence shout at her mother instead. Could anyone emanate silence as forcefully as a fourteen-year-old? No wonder people associate poltergeist activity with adolescence; they can beat you around the head without raising a finger. Frances felt a headache starting and took a deep, cleansing breath and slowly let it out.
“Why are you sighing at me?”
Frances shot her daughter a look. “I wasn’t. I was just breathing.”
“Well, quit it.”
“Completely?”
There was a pause.
“No,” replied Ava. “Not completely. I’m not tall enough to reach the pedals from over here, and if we crash on the way home I’m sure I’ll get blamed.” She picked at her nail polish.
“Not to mention that you’d have to explain to Anne, Iris, Charlie, and Bill why their kids were all in the hospital.”
Ava relaxed a little. “Charlie and Bill would be fine, but Anne would be pissed. She’s a little bit scary.”
“Anne?” Frances raised her eyebrows.
Ava was looking out of the window. “Yeah. Sometimes she looks at me as if she wants to snap my neck and throw my body on the ground.”
Frances pulled to a stop at a red light and turned to Ava. “Really?”
Ava nodded but didn’t elaborate, her mind already somewhere else. Frances looked in the rearview. Theo, Kate, Wyatt, and Milo were chattering away about God only knew what, and Lally and Lucas both had the thousand-yard stare of mid-afternoon preschoolers who were only a year or so out of taking a nap. None of them were paying any attention to her conversation at all.
She tried to reel Ava back in. “How was school?”
Ava shrugged. “Same same.”
“Same same good or same same bad?”
“Same same repetitive, which I think is what the phrase same same implies.” Her edge was back, like the slightly raised shoulder fur of a dog. I don’t have to fight you, it said, but I can and will if you keep irritating the shit out of me by merely existing.
“Who wants to stop at the park?” Frances raised her voice, startling the littlest kids and interrupting the older ones. They all looked interested, so she started to detour toward the playground.
“I have homework,” said Ava, firmly. “You need to drop me at home first.”
“We’ll only stop for half an hour, it will be good for you to be outside for a little while.”
“No,” replied her daughter. “It won’t. Don’t tell me what I need, you have no idea what I need.” She’d shifted herself away from her mother, each incremental inch making her distaste for proximity crystal clear.
“I didn’t. It will only be half an hour, and I’ll buy you ice cream.”
There was a pause as the Ava who loved ice cream fought with the Ava who hated to let her mother win.
Milo suddenly spoke from behind them. “If she has homework, maybe we should just go home. I don’t really care about the park.”
“Who are you, my agent?” Ava’s tone was scornful. Frances looked at her son’s eyes in the rearview. This was a new dynamic she’d noticed. He hated when she and Ava argued, so he was starting to take Ava’s side; but Ava rebuffed him every time, not needing anyone’s backup, thank you very much. Least of all that of a little boy. The little boy in question turned quickly to look out of the window, the scythe of his sister’s tone surprising him to tears.
Frances felt the quick, sharp pain of empathy, which was always so complicated when the slight was between siblings. But she kept her tone mild. “Ava, he was just trying to help, there’s no need to be mean.”
“I don’t need his help. I need to go home and be left alone to get on with my homework and, preferably, my entire life.” She knew she’d just hurt her brother’s feelings, and felt bad about it, but in the battle between her and her mother he was collateral damage. Unfriendly friendly fire.
Frances felt a tightness at the base of her throat that meant she was getting annoyed. She pushed it down, turned into the playground parking lot, and pulled into a space, punching the open-door button as soon as she turned off the engine. The younger kids started unbuckling, and she turned to her oldest child and smiled. “Look, Ava, I know you’re a mass of hormones and conflicting chemicals and I understand you have homework, but half an hour in the park will mean a better evening for all of us, and that’s what we’re doing. If you want to sit in the car and sulk, feel free.”
Ava started to speak, but Frances was already out of the car and helping the little ones jump down. As Milo climbed out she gave him a quick hug and followed him to the playground, not looking back at Ava at all.
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Frances sat on the side of the playground where a low wall ran around the equipment. In theory, this playground was well designed, with a large central play structure and the aforementioned wall going all the way around. It probably looked awesome in blue pencil on thin paper, printed out in a New York design practice. But in real life it meant you could easily lose sight of your kids. All along the wall parents would look up from their phones, scan the structure, then stand and crab walk along until they spotted their charge, sitting down again where they could see them, dropping their eyes back to their phones, and then repeating the whole dance several times. If you time lapsed it from a drone it would look like the shadows on a sundial, circumnavigating.