The Contradiction of Solitude(56)

“Don’t eat those, Layna! They’re for your father. They’re his favorites,” my mother simpered, wearing an apron and looking exactly like a fifties stereotype. I hated the act she put on when she knew Daddy was expected home.

She was a good mom, but she went into overdrive to please Daddy. Baking him cookies. Cleaning the house. Trying to do whatever she could so he wouldn’t want to leave again.

I always knew that she loved Daddy more than she could ever love Matty or me. Her love for us would never be adequate. It was him that she wanted. Him that she broke her back to build a home for.

But nothing in our home would ever make him stay.

“You remember my granddaughter Chloe.” Mrs. Statham waved a hand towards the kitchen where pretty, pretty Chloe was up to her elbows in dough. She looked up, startled, like a deer in headlights. Stunned.

“Hi, Chloe,” I said, inclining my head. I looked into her eyes. Never wavering. She remembered. I remembered. Our last encounter had been a test of wills. I had won. I didn’t tolerate others infringing on what was mine.

Elian.

I had seen the way she looked at him. I had heard the flirty tone in her voice. And I made it clear who he belonged to.

Mine.

“Have the chocolate crackles come out of the oven yet?” the older woman asked, ignorant to her granddaughter’s discomfort and my glee.

Mrs. Statham’s apartment was similar in layout to mine. Open floor plan with a galley kitchen. The biggest difference was the feel. Bright colorful curtains. Fluffy patterned pillows. Pictures adorning walls. Smiling faces on shelves.

The home of a woman once happy with her life. A woman still trying to hold on to what she once had.

I lived just below her but our worlds were different in every way that was important. Love. Family. Unconditional support.

I moved to stand beside Chloe at the counter. I watched her tense and move away. Just slightly. But noticeable.

I didn’t say anything. I stood there, watching her. Her hands shook ever so slightly and I had to cover my mouth so I wouldn’t laugh. The knife she used to cut the dough into circles trembled in her grasp.

I made her nervous. Anxious. She wanted to flee. Her instincts served her well. I reached out and took a small ball of chocolate dough and rolled it between my palms. Burrowing my fingers in, pulling apart.

“Can I help, Mom? I know what kind of cookies Daddy likes,” I offered, watching as she rolled lengths of dough into long, thin tubes and then cutting them with the large kitchen knife she kept in the drawer.

“No, Layna. Not this time. You can make some cookies next week.” Her promises meant nothing. They always fell apart.

She was a liar.

“Mommy, I want to help too!” Matty slapped his chubby, little boy hands on the cabinets. Banging. Clashing. Wanting attention.

Mom reached down, lifted my brother up, and balanced him on the counter. She handed him a spoon. “Why don’t you stir the eggs and sugar, sweetheart,” she cooed. Loving. Gentle. She ruffled his hair.

I was alone. Forgotten. Not even there.

I watched as my mother and my brother made cookies for my daddy.

My daddy.

I didn’t ask Mom why Matty was able to help and I couldn’t. What would be the point?

I already knew the answer.

My mother hated me.

She used to love me but not anymore.

Now I was Daddy’s and Daddy’s alone.

And that made me smile.

“The cookies are over there, Grandma.” Chloe pointed to a cooling rack.

“Let me get you a plate, Layna,” Mrs. Statham said, opening cabinets, rooting through dishes.

I watched Chloe as she purposefully kept her eyes fixed on the dough. I thought about the way she looked at Elian and I squeezed the dough in my hands. Oozing between my fingers.

“Can I help?” I asked, dropping the messy glob back onto the counter.

Chloe startled at the sound of my voice.

“That’s okay, I’m fine,” she answered, rejecting my offer.

Rejecting.

I felt cold inside. Frozen. Empty.

“Here you go, darling.” Mrs. Statham handed me a plate with four cookies. I picked one up and took a bite. It felt like sandpaper in my mouth. My throat constricted and I wished I could spit it out.

But I didn’t. I swallowed the lump and smiled. “These are great, Mrs. Statham. You and Chloe did a great job,” I cooed. Liar. Liar.

Mrs. Statham started talking about egg to flour ratios. Chocolate chips and baking powder.

I put the plate on the counter and leaned in towards Chloe. “Maybe I should bring some for Elian,” I said quietly. So quietly. Threat. Warning. Blank menace.

Chloe’s hands erupted in a flurry of agitated movement. Slicing, slicing.

“Let me do that,” I said, reaching for the knife.

“No, that’s fine,” Chloe squeaked, pulling back. I gripped the handle and gave it a twist. The sharp blade sliced through Chloe’s arm. The fleshy underside split open. Fine and true.

She gasped, her face gone white. I picked up the knife, the blood, bright red. Dripping. Slipping. Into the dough.

“What in the world?” Mrs. Statham exclaimed.

The blood came fast. It came thick. It fell onto the floor at my feet. I grabbed a towel and wrapped my hand around Chloe’s wrist. My fingers smeared with the blood, branding my skin.