“Let’s talk big party, Tabs,” Alicia grinned. “December 10th, right? The big fourteen, already.”
“I’m letting Matthew’s mom organize all that,” Tabitha chuckled. “I don’t even know where it’ll be. I’m hoping a playground, or a Chuck-E-Cheese, or something along those lines.”
“A… playground?” Elena made a face. “Chuck-E-Cheese? Tabitha, you’re turning fourteen, not nine.”
“Oh, I know, but—I want my cousins to have fun,” Tabitha said. “I know I want my cousins to be there, and I’m sure Hannah will be there, so I thought the place should be somewhere the younger kids can all have fun. Since it’ll mostly be younger kids, right?”
“I’m gonna stop you right there,” Elena held up a hand. “Your birthday’s about you, not them. What do you want to do for your birthday?”
“I very honestly have no idea,” Tabitha shook her head with an amused smile. “Birthdays aren’t a big deal to me, they just—they come and they go. Often with little fanfare besides people posting up a happy birthday on your page when Facebook’s automatic thing reminds them to.”
“That’s… depressing,” Alicia groaned. “Stop that. Okay, so; your goof troop cousins. Hannah. Elena and me, obviously. Matthew and Casey?”
“I’d be fine with them being there, but I don’t think they should feel obligated, or anything,” Tabitha shrugged. “I don’t know them all that well, yet. I don’t have many close friends besides you guys.”
“They’ll both be there,” Elena promised. “How about Michael and Olivia?”
“Um…?” Tabitha was at a loss.
“They’re a couple, they were sitting near us at the Halloween party,” Elena explained. “Green Power Ranger and… a witch, I think? Don’t know that we all actually talked much, but Michael did like, tackle Erica off of you. He was the first person to react when all of that was going down.”
“Oh. Yeah, cool,” Tabitha said. “I should thank him, definitely. I didn’t even know.”
“We’ll meet him and Olivia this Sunday, probably,” Elena guessed. “If you’re going to try the Methodist church here in town the day after tomorrow, they all go there. They’re part of that same youth group Matthew goes to. My Mom and I will be there, too. Some of my Mom’s friends from Springton Presybeterian there were being super snobby about your mother, I guess, and we—Mom and I—decided, we’re making a point.”
“Um,” Tabitha looked a little overwhelmed. “I didn’t mean to make waves or anything—I was really just trying to get my mother out of the house, for once. Back into a community.”
“It’s real old drama, not your fault,” Elena assured her. “We’re burying it.”
“Super weird question, but…” Alicia paused. “Tabs, are you inviting your own parents to your birthday party? Or are they like—persona non granata?”
“Persona non grata,” Elena corrected.
“I know it’s persona non grata,” Alicia rolled her eyes. “It’s a joke, granata means hand grenade. Makes the whole thing funnier, ‘specially for people who don’t realize.”
“Okay, yeah,” Elena nodded. “Sorry. Mom’ll love that one, actually.”
“I’m inviting my parents,” Tabitha let out a small huff. “They have a right to be there. I’d probably be a little upset if they didn’t come.”
“But like, are you gonna be upset if they do show?” Alicia asked. “After… all that.”
“A little,” Tabitha admitted. “But, also—good chance to bury the hatchet, I guess. Put it all behind us, try to make amends. Oh! What about Clarissa?”
“Clarissa?” Alicia blinked.
“Ginger Spice, girl at the party who apologized,” Elena elaborated. “The one who stole Tabitha’s binder from class, and tossed it in a trash can.”
“Oh. Her.” Alicia scowled. “Don’t invite her. Ew.”
“I said that I was going to forgive her and try to be friends,” Tabitha said. “Do you guys still see her at school?”
“Not really,” Alicia said. “She was never in any of my classes to begin with.”
“I don’t really hang out with anyone but Alicia, anymore,” Elena shook her head. “Clarissa’s kind of the same—her old group kind of turned on her. Threw her under the bus, because they were afraid of being suspended, and things never really patched up. From what I’ve seen.”
“Good,” Alicia snorted. “Serves her right.”
“If we invite her,” Tabitha sighed. “Can you be nice to her?”
“I’m always nice,” Alicia said. “If I don’t have anything nice to say to her, then… I’ll just like, glare and give her dirty looks the whole time. Cross my arms like this. Be all grumpy about it.”
“Thank you,” Tabitha shook her head in dismay at Alicia’s stubborn smile. “I’m going to invite Ashlee Taylor too, Erica’s little sister. I honestly don’t expect her to show up, though.”
“Cool, cool,” Elena nodded. “Anyone else from school? So that we can remember and talk to whoever about it when we see them next.”
“Not… that I can think of?” Tabitha thought about it for a moment. “I really wasn’t very popular. I don’t know many people.”
“Yeah, but you know all the right people,” Alicia grinned, hooking her arm through Elena’s. “Right, ‘Lena? Quality over quantity, and all that jazz.”
“Oh wait!” Tabitha’s eyes lit up. “Do either of you know Bobby? He’s a freshman.”
“Bobby Anderson?” Elena made a face. “Yeah… everyone knows him.”
“Bobby like, total jackass Bobby?” Alicia gave Tabitha a quizzical look. “Super loud, always messing around?”
“...Yes?” Tabitha faltered. “Would he not be a good person to invite?”
“Why would you invite him?” Elena asked. “Do you know him?”
“He’s in my—well he was in my math class, when I was there,” Tabitha said. “I don’t know him that well, but—he’s cute? Right?”
Both Elena and Alicia stopped, and Alicia withdrew her arm so that both friends could cross their arms and put on a serious front for Tabitha.
“What?!” Tabitha let out an uneasy laugh. “He is a little cute, right? Am I missing something here, or—is there something I don’t know?”
“No, it’s just…” Elena gave Tabitha an evaluating look. “Bobby? Really?”
“I guess I could see it,” Alicia sighed. “No offense, Tabby.”
“Are you guys just teasing me?” Tabitha asked. “He was always nice to me. I ran into him again a few days ago, I think his brother works at the little convenience store just above the trailer park there.”
“He’s a little cute,” Elena conceded. “Just—not who I would’ve picked for you, at all.”
“What does that mean?” Tabitha laughed. “Who would you have picked?”
“I do remember him standing up for Tabitha,” Alicia added, looking thoughtful now. “When this bunch of be-otches in my other class were all badmouthing Tabs, spreading talk around. He was all like ‘y’all are all full of shit,’ or something like that. I don’t remember.”
“Really?” Tabitha asked.
“Oh,” Elena remarked. “That’s different, then—yeah, we can invite him for you.”
“Tabs, serious talk,” Alicia said. “Are you interested in Bobby?”
“I don’t know! A little, kinda,” Tabitha tried hard not to be flustered. “Maybe not interested, interested. He seemed cool to be around.”
“Cool… how?” Alicia asked. “Not judging! Just tryin’ to wrap my mind around it. It’s Bobby.”
“Um,” Tabitha paused. “He makes me feel… comfortable?”
Both of her friends stared at her.
“Like I can be myself,” Tabitha continued on in exasperation. “Like I wouldn’t have to try to present myself any certain way, like he’ll be cool with just me being me. I uh, that’s just this impression I got, though! I remember being all tired and frazzled and kind of—dumping a bunch of random weird babble on him without thinking, and he was just completely cool and rolled with it. He’s seen me cry, too. Uhh, fine, in all honestly, I’ve barely even talked to him. Is this a yes or a no?”
“Okay, then,” Alicia said. “I approve—we can invite Bobby.”
“Just, so you’re aware,” Elena warned her. “If you’re friends with Bobby, if you’re interested in Bobby—Bobby’s a clown, but he’s… very social, he always winds up kind of being center of attention in class, and such. I don’t know if you’re ready for that, or if you even planned to come back to school at all.”
“I’m interested in him but not necessarily interested in him,” Tabitha said. “I’m not dating Bobby, or anyone else, anytime soon. Period. Hard stop. I do want to… be able to come out of my shell more. I do want to have more friends and have the high school experience I always wished I’d had, want to be able to hang out with people like Bobby. Cool kids. I left school in a rush because I was feeling very… vulnerable, and needed away from all of that for a while. But, to be honest—boredom is going to win out. I miss being around people, I miss seeing you both every weekday, I start to feel like I’m missing out on a lot of things. I think in a few months, or just as soon as I have my cast off, I want to come back. Do the high school thing again.”
“Awesome,” Alicia hopped up on the balls of her feet and then lunged in to give Tabitha a hug. “Cool. Yeah. S’gonna be great having you back! We can invite Bobby. We can invite Clarissa. Then maybe when you come back, by the time you come back, you’ll have—well, it’ll be different. Won’t just be us three against the world. I’ve been makin’ art club friends. Elena is… doing her lone wolf Elena thing right now.”
“I have friends,” Elena scoffed. “I’m just pickier about them, now, after Carrie. I already know all the freshman, and everyone knows me—I’m connected, I don’t need to be friends with most of them.”
“Just us cool art club peoples,” Alicia joked. “Tabs, once you’re back—we’re pullin’ you into art club. Then, you can chill with us after school every Thursday.”
“Hah, I can just picture it,” Tabitha chuckled. “The Springton High art club, secretly taken over by our underground Pokemon fighting ring!”
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“You were right, Mrs. Macintire,” Tabitha admitted with a smile as she eased herself down into the Acura Integra. Her day at the mall was more exhausting than she’d realized, and she almost slumped back against the seat before managing to get the door closed behind her. “Going out with my friends—it was a great idea. I really, really needed that.”
“It’s Sandy or Sandra, babe, quit makin’ me feel old,” Mrs. Macintire smirked, appraising Tabitha from behind her sunglasses. “So, you had fun?”
“I did! I had—it was so much fun,” Tabitha beamed. “That might have been the most fun I’ve ever had in my entire life. Just. Being there, having them there, being able to go around and do the whole, the whole mall experience with them like that. It was incredible.”
Rather than smiling back at her words, to Tabitha’s surprise Mrs. Macintire instead winced.
“Aw, hun,” Sandra finally managed. “Yeah. That’s—that’s not okay, either. You’re gonna get me all worked up again. Goin’ round with your friends, having fun and just. Being a teenager? That needs to be your new normal, not your new friggin’... high point. Okay? I—sorry. I am real glad you guys had fun. Don’t go thinking this was a one time thing or anything, okay? They’re your friends, and you need to be able to socialize with people your own age.”
“You’re not that much older than me,” Tabitha chuckled as the car pulled away from the curb and began to coast into line behind other vehicles down the thoroughfare separating the Sandboro mall from the overcrowded expanse of parking lots. “Neither is Hannah, she’s not much younger than me. My mental age range is… all over the place! Just—thank you again, really. For taking me out here, for insisting on it. I don’t normally go places, and it was… completely amazing.”
“Did you find lots of good deals?” Sandra asked with a bitter smile. “You only have the one little bag, hun. I told you you needed to spend all of that!”
“I spent… most of it,” Tabitha said with a sheepish grin. “Matthew offered to take home the big heavy bag with Hannah.”
“Big heavy bag, huh?” Sandra finally looked pleased. “Good.”
“Yes,” Tabitha grinned. “Christmas presents for my cousins. Oh! I did mean to ask you about that. I bought myself and each of my cousins a game boy, so that we’ll all be able to play Pokemon together. Which is, it’s a Japanese game about collecting and training little monsters so that—”
“I have a seven year old, trust me I know what Pokemon is,” Mrs. Macintire rolled her eyes. “That’s the one with Pikachu. Had the strobing lights in some episode, that was giving people epileptic seizures?”
“Yes, that one.” It was Tabitha’s turn to wince, now. “Anyways, the games don’t have strobing lights or anything, and—I know that Hannah will want to play with us. I almost just went and bought her one, too. But, I thought it’d be better to talk about it with you first to make sure that it was okay.”
“Hubby and I talked about getting her the gameboy thing before,” Mrs. Macintire revealed as she tapped the steering wheel with her thumbs. “We talked with Matthew about it and everything, since he has one of those. Hannah asked for one, obviously, but we weren’t sure she was ready—Matthew said a lot of the Pokemon game is reading, that the ‘battling’ is selecting text from little menus. At the time Hannah wasn’t in first grade yet, and we didn’t think she’d be able to enjoy the game like she can enjoy the cartoon. But! She’s reading a lot more now, and if you’re playing, she’ll absolutely insist on playing, too. We’ll go ahead and get her a gameboy for Christmas.”
“Thank you,” Tabitha breathed out a sigh of relief. “Really, thank you again. If she has any trouble with any of the words, I’ll help her. I’m really excited to be able to play with everyone.”
“Yes, of course, you’re welcome,” Mrs. Macintire shook her head in disbelief. “Because as you know, it’s just so hard to find ways to spoil her even more rotten. The game’s not too violent, I trust?”
“Not at all violent,” Tabitha promised. “In the ani—in the cartoon it shows them fight each other, but in these games none of that is even visualized. It will just display the name of the attack and then show the numerical damage to health points, and whatnot. Nothing graphic at all.”
“That’s fine, then,” Sandra chuckled. “You bought one of those things for each of your cousins? How many cousins do you have?”
“I have—there’s four of them,” Tabitha flushed. “And, I bought one for myself, too. That’s, um, that’s where most of the money all went. Gameboy Colors, and a few link cables, and enough games for everyone to play their own. I know that seems extravagant, or even irresponsible, but—I-I took their mother away from them. There isn’t even—”
“Whoa whoa whoa,” Sandra’s voice grew stern. “Stop that. Nuh-uh, don’t even go there. Hun, you didn’t take a mother away from them, that woman took herself away with her own poor choices. Okay? You did not take a mother away from them. You helped remove a dangerous influence, that shouldn’t have been anywhere near those kids in the first place, you did the right thing. You DID NOT take their mother from them. Understood?”
“I—yes, logically, I know that, but—”
“Nope. Nuh-uh, don’t even.”
“I don’t know if they, um, blame me or not,” Tabitha hurried to explain. “And, if they do—if they do, I’m not going to try to be logical with them or, or make excuses. They deserve to grow up in a loving family, they deserve to be able to just be kids, to not be deprived of so many things. I can’t be a mother to them or replace their mother, but I wish I could. I really wish I could. I had to do something for them.”
Mrs. Macintire didn’t say anything to that, only lowering her shades with one finger and glaring steadily at Tabitha. It went on for so long that Tabitha felt herself wilt beneath the power of the woman’s stare, and she wanted to remind the woman to watch the road, but at the moment they were waiting behind other cars at the stoplight of an intersection.
“Oh. Oh. But—no, no, this with you and me is different,” Tabitha felt her cheeks burn red. “I’m not—I’m not a kid! There uh, there aren’t really any parallels, really. Really.”
“Uh-huh,” Sandra muttered under her breath. “Well, listen, kiddo—did you remember to buy batteries for all those Game Boys? You’re gonna need a ton of them.”
“I… did not remember,” Tabitha slumped her shoulders. “But, but I would have thought of it eventually. There’s still time, and there’s still a little bit of money left over.”
“So, how about we swing by Target on the way back and grab batteries and things?” Mrs. Macintire proposed. “Batteries, socks, underwear, a few more outfits—anything you might need, since you’re gonna be stuck with us for a while. I can’t be your mom, but I really wish I could be, and like you said. I have to do something for you.”
“No, it’s—I—no, no,” Tabitha protested in a weak voice. “You can’t, really. Those two situations aren’t the same at all. It’s too much, you’ve already done too much for me. You can’t. You’ve already spent way too much.”
“Pfft, tough,” Sandra snorted. “What, so you can be all generous and giving, but I can’t? Yeah, I don’t think so. As the great Doctor Evil once said—‘we’re not so different, you and I.’ You’ve seen Austin Powers?”
“Hah, I um, yes I’ve seen them,” Tabitha laughed. “It’s just—been quite a few years.”
“‘I’ve seen them,’ she says,” Sandra cast another amused glance in Tabitha’s direction. “Uh-huh, sure you have. ‘Cept there’s only one Austin Powers movie, and it came out just this past year. You’re gonna have to fib way better than that ‘round my husband, missy, or he’ll drag you into watching all his stupid Bond movie crap.”
“Of course,” Tabitha grumbled, hiding her face in her hand.
----------------------------------------
Shopping with Mrs. Macintire was a mortifying experience, and Tabitha wasn’t able to untense her shoulders or stop squirming in place.
She, she just keeps putting things in the cart, Tabitha thought to herself in a daze. Doesn’t even check the prices. I thought at first she was just grabbing things for herself, but then it becomes so obvious that they’re things for me. She isn’t going to ask, because she knows I’ll find excuses. This must be hundreds of dollars already.
“Mrs. Macin—”
“It’s Sandy,” Mrs. Macintire corrected, absentmindedly holding up a pair of pajama pants up against Tabitha’s figure to compare the size and then stacking them atop the growing pile of ‘necessities’ filling their cart. “Sandy or Mom, take it or leave it.”
“S-Sandy, please,” Tabitha asked in a low voice. “It’s too much, and, and you spending so much on me makes me… very uncomfortable.”
“I’m sorry, and I really do sympathize,” Mrs. Macintire had pursed her lips but made no motion to return any of the items to the shelves. “But, I can afford to spend some money. I can not afford for you to go wanting for anything, okay?”
“I’m already more used to living… frugally,” Tabitha said, horrifically embarrassed. “I, I don’t need so many things, really.”
“Uh-huh. You bought sanitary pads at the Sandboro mall, then?” Mrs. Macintire raised an eyebrow at her. “Deodorant, toothpaste, shampoo? Facial cleanser, moisturizer, concealer? You sure as hell didn’t buy any lip balm, missus chapped lips.”
“No, I—I have tampons, they’re in my bag I brought from home,” Tabitha whispered. “Chapstick too, somewhere. Maybe. It disappears and reappears. I made sure to pack everything I needed, I swear! You can’t do so much for me, not when I haven’t even started looking after Hannah yet.”
“Can too,” Mrs. Macintire retorted in a playful voice. “You saved my husband’s life. His life is worth two, maybe three big shopping trips. Maybe even more, when I’m not feeling cross at him.”
“It’s not, though—I didn’t do anything too special, I just happened to be there,” Tabitha said. “Anyone who was there would have done the same thing. I don’t deserve special treatment.”
“It meant the world to me, and it meant the world to Hannah,” Mrs. Macintire shrugged. “Sorry, get used to it. Now, look—underwear. There’s lingerie, even, at Target, goodness sakes. Hey, every teenager needs at least one pair of sexy underwear, right? For confidence.”
“I do not need sexy underwear.”
“Well, not with that attitude, you don’t,” Sandra teased, picking through the underwear on display. “It’s—ooh, look at this one!”
“Cassandra Macintire.”
“Okay, okay, don’t get your panties in a twist. Sheeesh.”
----------------------------------------
The rest of the weekend was given to Tabitha for settling herself into her new home. Cohabitating with an upper-middle class family all of the sudden was nice and it was also frightening. Mrs. Macintire was in nominal charge of the household, but it was also clear that she wasn’t comfortable with the role and had grown increasingly stressed out and frazzled trying to take care of everything herself. Her husband for the most part was sequestered to the master bedroom and rarely left.
I wasn’t able to follow a lot of… jargon that had to do with his recovery, Tabitha thought to herself. I saw firsthand that he took a bullet almost point-blank, right in the sternum.
From what she gleaned in the oversimplified explanation prepared for Hannah, the bullet never created an exit wound or even left the body—it instead embolized, exhausted its kinetic energy and came to rest right in a blood vessel of some kind near his heart. Officer Macintire’s current condition seemed to have less to do with recovering from the direct ballistic trauma, and more to do with monitoring his corrected circulatory system after they were forced to carefully stitch shut small swathes of his chest cavity. Right now his lower left extremities had reduced blood flow, from his toes all the way up to his hip. He was told, over and over again, by everyone around him—take everything slow, and take everything easy.
Tabitha intimately understood Mr. Macintire’s frustration and impatience.
With Darren Macintire confined to bedrest, he was home at all times but for the most part not up and about—the door to that room remained closed for the man’s privacy. He was able to sit up and get over to the attached bathroom there himself, a concession born out of practicality more than anything else, but otherwise Sandra was adamant about him only getting up to move around the house under her strict supervision. It was hard not to feel guilty about how restricted the man was right now, but at the same time… Tabitha was a little too timid to try to strike up conversations with him or keep him company.
The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
So, she puttered around the house picking up Hannah’s toys, and she stole away to the window seat to curl up with The Dark Hand of Magic, the last book in the Starhawk and Sunwolf series she had on loan from Mrs. Williams. After spotting her reading, Sandra rummaged through a hallway closet and then returned with a handful of bodice-ripper style harlequin novels, informing Tabitha that she’d be putting the little stack in the guest room.
“I read ‘em when I was your age, I’m not gonna judge you, and we don’t even have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” Sandra had explained. “Just gonna set them in there, okay?”
“Um. Okay,” Tabitha had laughed, holding her finger in place at the line in her book for a moment. “I might leaf through them?”
“Cool,” Sandra blew out a sigh of relief. “You need to talk about anything—you know—weird, or private, about uh, self care or any girl stuff, you let me know, alright? Or, you can even talk to Karen if you’d prefer that, so that it’s… less weird than talking to me about it.”
“I think I’m good on all that for—for a few years,” Tabitha struggled to keep a straight face. “I, um. You have to walk before you can run, and I’m uh, I’m not even walking yet, I’m just now first standing up and like, getting my balance? I’m good on all the… sexuality and all that, for a while. In no rush to uh, figure out self discovery or be interested in boys or anything.”
“Cool! Cool. Very cool,” Mrs. Macintire blushed. “Smart. Sorry about teasing you with the lingerie stuff back there in Target, Karen and I are used to poking fun at Matthew. Well, just in case—I’m putting these books in there. I know you’re mature as hell for your age and already a young lady, but just sayin’ from experience. Hormones’ll sneak up on you around that age and just—clobber you. No judgment. Just if you ever need anything—yeah. Cool.”
“Cool,” Tabitha promised. “I’m good.”
It was the truth, so the encounter wasn’t as embarrassing as it should have been. Tabitha had never thought of herself as having much of a libido, in either life. It was as if she could get turned on, but never get turned on very far. Fantasy companionship was so far removed from the reality of her existence that it just wasn’t a mental place she’d ever bothered to visit often. She wasn’t asexual, although she’d told herself she was back in her college years. There were just too many fears and hangups about it all, body issues and confidence problems that added up into a mess that she wasn’t comfortable bringing to a therapist to sort out.
Plus I’m way too young right now, so I can just kinda… put off thinking about it, Tabitha decided with a wry smile. I get those little fits of ATTRACTION sometimes with boys, but it’s not horniness or anything like that, exactly. It’s more of a deer-in-headlights feeling. Swooning glee, admiration, young attraction. Imagining actually DOING something with another person—yep. Freezes up my insides, practically activates my fight or flight response. No way in hell is anything like that happening anytime soon. If ever.
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“What’s it like having boobs?” Hannah asked.
For a moment Tabitha was simply stunned and blindsided, and after a long moment staring incredulously back at the little girl Tabitha cleared her throat and considered the question. They were sitting together on the Macintire’s living room sofa watching television, and as always Hannah was practically leaning up against her, because her seven-year-old concepts of personal space hadn’t quite developed yet.
“Nice, but also… annoying,” Tabitha answered.
“Nice but also annoying?” Hannah echoed. “How?”
“They’re in the way,” Tabitha started. “They shift around when you’re running, and it’s uncomfortable. Sweat. They’re heavier than they should be, and wearing bras just plain isn’t fun. It’s like wearing shoes—a lot of days you just can’t wait to get home so you can take them off, you know? Sometimes right before your… time of the month, they get sore, for absolutely no reason, and it’s upsetting. I accidentally pinched one of my boobs once, when I was carrying this stack of metal trays? And—it hurt, sooo bad. Ever since then, I’ve carried things like that way out away from my body, and it’s… awkward. Boys my age stare, because I guess it takes time for them to learn to know better, and it makes me want to crawl into a hole and die. Have to be self-conscious about how they look, worry that they’re too big or too small or that they’re shaped weird or lopsided or sag too much or have lumps or appear asymmetrical or that they’re too far apart to form proper cleavage.”
“That’s… that’s a lot,” Hannah frowned at the gravity of the situation. “Does sound really annoying.”
“It can be,” Tabitha admitted. “Enjoy not having to deal with them while you can, and then hope you get good ones?”
“Yeah,” Hannah nodded. “Mom said I should never ask you if I can see them.”
“It’s good that she warned you, because that’s not something appropriate to ask, and it would make me very uncomfortable.”
“Yeah,” Hannah said. “Inappropriate and like, boundaries and stuff.”
“...Let’s just watch TV for a little bit, okay Hannah Banana?”
“Okay.”
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Good Lordy, Sandra Macintire blew out a breath as she heaved her purse down onto the kitchen counter. Why didn’t I take in Tabitha AGES ago?
There was no messy house. There was nothing urgent that needed done, nothing besides checking on her husband—Darren only needed a tiny bit of assistance getting around the house to sit down for dinners with them. Tabitha cooked, Tabitha cleaned, and most importantly—Tabitha took up all of Hannah’s time and energy, every single day.
She’d had no idea what to expect bringing a teenager to live with them, and the stubborn glass-half-empty side of her had anticipated the worst—that Tabitha would bring her own difficulties with her, that this would be like dealing with an additional daughter, when she could scarcely manage one. Perhaps Hannah and Tabitha would fight sometimes; they were children and this would surely happen. Maybe Tabitha would be moody and distant, maybe at her age there would be some testing of boundaries. Mrs. Macintire had somehow expected all of these things, had resolved to be patient with the poor girl and be flexible but also firm with the girl.
Instead, in the few days since the young girl’s arrival it was as if an unseen weight had been lifted off of the Macintire household. Bringing Tabitha into their home was nothing like taking in another daughter. This Tabitha girl seemed to thrive on having a purpose and took care of everything—it was as though she’d hired a small team of private staff all bundled up into the one single diminutive teen. Boundaries were indeed tested and then pushed, but they always seemed to be the ones Sandra set to ensure that the girl wasn’t overworking herself or slaving away for their family.
The ever-present assortment of Hannah’s toys around the house had disappeared. Persistent clutter that had become piles and even accumulated into something like snowdrifts near the seven-year-old’s favorite places to play were now tidy and immaculate. The living room floor was bare, and there wasn’t a single plaything to be seen in the crook of their L-shaped sectional sofa where Hannah always sat and surrounded herself with things while watching her cartoons. The dining room was free from storybooks and plastic play food for once.
“Hannah honey?” Sandra remembered looking around in confusion, not used to seeing their living space so neat and orderly. “Where did all of your little toy food things go?”
“In my refrigerator, so that they don’t go bad,” Hannah answered, giving one of those sassy duh, even I knew that looks that she clearly must have picked up from that awful father of hers. “Mom—food goes bad if you don’t keep it in a fridge.”
“You know what?” Mrs. Macintire had sighed. “You’re right. When you’re right, you’re right.”
Sandra remembered sitting herself down with Hannah to play house on quite a few occasions over the past several years, playing at chomping away at the plastic food Hannah ‘cooked’ for them in her little kitchenette playset. She’d at first been worried about whether Tabitha would be able to do the same—she was a teenager, after all, and may have felt particular about doing things that seemed too childish. On the contrary, Tabitha went all in, treating the games of make-believe with a seriousness and gravity that Sandra as an adult just hadn’t been able to match.
All of the sudden now, Hannah was very particular about anyone opening her toy fridge for too long and letting all of the pretend cold air out. The seven-year-old now referred to the bottom plastic bin of her fridge as a crispy drawer, taught her mother that it was for fruits and vegetables, while meats (now wrapped up carefully in imaginary plastic wrap) had to go on the lowest shelf just above that, so they would stay fresh for as long as possible. The little plastic milk carton now had a best before date in the bottom corner, marked with permanent marker in Tabitha’s precise handwriting. Hannah made a show of checking it every time before pouring anyone a pretend glass, even though she knew it simply read ‘next Thursday.’
While Hannah was at school, Tabitha had her own private time, which seemed to be spent reading or relaxing or tidying up the house in small ways. Every weekday, Tabitha met her young ward at the bus stop at the end of the street so that she could walk the short distance home with her, asking what she had learned—and if she could teach anything to Tabitha. One of Hannah’s most favoritest things in the world was to talk, but few had the presence of mind to actually listen intently to it all with aplomb like Tabitha did.
When they got inside, Tabitha would make sure Hannah said hello to Mr. Macintire, and then the two girls would take their leave to set about on a project. Rather than describe what the girls were up to, Sandra thought it might have been easier to say what they weren’t up to, because the pair seemed to be doing a little bit of everything. A garden in the corner of the backyard was being planned, the Barbies were getting organized and decorations were being prepared for a big wedding—Sandra had received an actual written invitation—Hannah had memorized the Macarena, the eighteen step Electric Slide, and the sixteen step Freeze, twenty-four step Boogie variations of the Slide. Hannah was helping Tabitha prepare and cook meals (under careful supervision), and they had also learned how to make their own pop up books and construction paper lanterns in Christmas colors. They were designing and constructing a bookshelf and a toy bin, and what had begun as a single blanket fort had over the course of the week become two warring blanket kingdoms, each set up and then put away with more and more efficiency every time they were erected.
Project time gave way to dinnertime, the only meal the Macintires always ate together as a family, and after that a tuckered-out Hannah would watch an hour of TV. While before Tabitha’s arrival Hannah would simply keep watching cartoons all the way until bedtime, now there just wasn’t time—there was instead a two-person Book Club that read storybooks to each other. Hannah had always loved stories and was an excellent reader for her age, but Tabitha managed to magnify the girl’s interest in dynamic ways.
“How would things have been different, if instead of Timone and Pumbaa discovering Simba… it had been Baloo and Bagheera? From The Jungle Book. Would Simba have grown up into a different sort of ruler?”
Good Lord. Sandra never expected to hear her first-grader holding her own in an in-depth discussion on the differences between the parallel philosophies of bare necessities and hakuna matata. The words used in their increasingly animated discussion may have been simple, but the concepts behind them that Tabitha delighted in drawing Hannah into were deceptively broad.
“What if the first human Ariel met was Gaston from Beauty and the Beast, instead of Prince Eric? Maybe Gaston would fall in love with Ariel, and then have to grapple with her inhuman origins. Could he eventually overcome the thought of treating those different from him simply as monsters? Do you think Gaston could have been redeemed in the right circumstances, if he’d been in the right story?”
Hannah had known each of the popular Disney tales inside and out, but when Tabitha put that to the test and had Hannah recite one of her storybooks to her parents without checking the pages… well, she actually performed surprisingly well. The challenge excited instead of intimidated Hannah, the praise pushed her on to try to do better each time and remember more, and the girl’s reading speed, comprehension, and performance ability was noticeably improving each night.
Obviously, when Tabitha set out to play with Hannah, a subtle lesson was imparted in the form of a game. Teaching new things to make their play more interesting, leading Hannah into discovering things or figuring them out for herself, and then quite a few ‘games’ were simply the girls sitting down to categorize or organize things—that was already fun for Tabitha, and Hannah seemed to absorb everything the teen did like a sponge.
The stuffed animals that had been strewn all over the house were gone—Tabitha had discovered a pair of easter baskets from years past in the garage and sat down with Hannah creating little displays.
“Mom it’s not just like toys, it’s like flower arranging,” Hannah had insisted. “There’s an art form to it, and you compete to see who’s the best at displaying the collection. All of the BIG beanie babies have to be on bottom, so you can still see the Teeny Beanie Babies and no one gets blocked off. They all need to be facing out, so you can see their best sides, and you can put them by color OR by what kind of animal they are, or BOTH. See?”
From that point on, the baskets of Beanies weren’t to be touched—they were awarded a prominent position atop the entertainment center to be seen like trophies. Hannah’s older toys, the ones left over from when she’d been a toddler, had been separated off into a box to donate to their church’s daycare, but with an evening-long question and answers session Tabitha had determined a handful of favorites that would instead be enshrined in the attic for sentimental value. Broken toys were categorized into throw-outs and fixables, and that became a game as well—Sandra came home from work one day to see her daughter with a stethoscope and plastic tongs, assisting Tabitha as broken pieces of Barbie convertible were carefully put back into place with the help of the mini hot glue gun the Macintires kept for scrapbooking.
“Hannah, the dryer’s finished with the laundry,” Tabitha called in a soft voice. “Do you want to watch me fold clothes?”
Sandra wanted to object to that, because Tabitha was not their family’s maid, but the peculiarity of the situation was so amusing she couldn’t help but hold her tongue and watch. Sure enough, Hannah’s cute little head popped up from the other side of the couch. Her after school cartoons were on, and Tabitha’s question was so strange that Hannah was visibly confused.
“No?” Hannah giggled. “Why would I wanna watch folding clothes?”
“I thought you might be interested,” Tabitha shrugged, taking a cloth so that she could wipe off the kitchen table. “But, your shows are on, so—sorry to bother you.”
“It’s okay,” Hannah replied.
She’s already hooked somehow though, I just know it, Mrs. Macintire watched with a small smile.
The poor little first grader already appeared torn, forced to rise up onto her knees so that she could whip her attention back and forth between the television on one side and Tabitha setting the laundry basket on the table on the other side. After several apparently agonizing moments of indecision, Hannah clambered down from the couch and skirted around it so that she could see what Tabitha was up to.
“Did you know a lot of guys fold their clothes differently than girls?” Tabitha asked. “There’s different ways to fold things.”
“There is?” Hannah gave her a skeptical look.
“Uh-huh,” Tabitha pulled out a chair for the girl and then slid the plastic hamper out of the way so that there was space to fold clothes upon the tabletop. “Your mother uses something similar to the Konmari method, named after Marie Kondo. Marie was a Japanese shrine maiden, and became the most famous person in the world for tidying up things. Very elegant and orderly.”
Hannah giggled again, glancing from Tabitha to Mrs. Macintire and back again as if unsure as to whether Tabitha was making this all up. Sandra simply smiled and raised her eyebrows without saying a word—she’d never heard of any Marie Kondo, but wasn’t about to contradict Tabitha once the girl had captured her daughter’s interest again.
“Like this. See?” Tabitha neatly folded a shirt and then slid it in front of Hannah. “Now boys, on the other hand, they often like to ranger roll their clothes. Let me show you.”
“Ranger like Power Ranger?” Hannah asked.
“Ranger like army rangers,” Tabitha explained. “In the army, rangers are like special forces that get sent out on the most dangerous missions. Army rangers have to be the bravest and toughest soldiers there are! You see how I folded the hem back? Now, when I fold it once over itself and then put in the sleeves, I take it from the neck here and… roll it up as tightly as I can. Like this. Then, once you’ve gotten to the hem I folded back earlier—like this, you can pull the hem back over the rolled part, and it stays together like so. A neat little roll.”
“Kinda like a sleeping bag,” Hannah observed. “That’s how I roll up my sleeping bag. I have a Hunchback of Notre Dame sleeping bag, for if we go camping.”
“It is! It’s a lot like rolling up something for camping,” Tabitha nodded, already starting on another shirt. “I think maybe army rangers have to pack things up like they were going camping, because they might have to sleep outside on a special mission. That’s why boys like folding their clothes this way—it’s a very military way to fold their clothing, so boys think that’s really cool. I think it’s kinda cool, too.”
“It is kinda cool,” Hannah nodded.
“But, then the other way is really cool, too—hmm, what was the other way called again?” Tabitha pursed her lips and looked upwards as if struggling to remember.
“Konmari!” Hannah answered. “Konmari method.”
“That’s! Wow, that’s right,” Tabitha’s surprise at Hannah’s alarming memory retention didn’t seem to be feigned, and the redheaded teen flashed Mrs. Macintire a smile over Hannah’s head. “The Konmari method, that Marie Kondo teaches. I thought it’d be neat and a little sneaky if we folded all of you and your mom’s clothes with the traditional Konmari method, and then we ranger roll all your dad’s clothes. Do you think he’ll notice?”
“I think he’ll notice,” Hannah nodded. “He’s in the police.”
“True, true,” Tabitha pulled out one of Hannah’s little blouses and set it in front of the girl so she could follow along the motions Tabitha was showing. “Police officers have a lot in common with military officers. Right?”
“Yeah,” Hannah agreed. “I wanna do mine the other way—I want to roll this one.”
“You do? Okay, we start like this… then it goes over, like this. On both sides, you have to fold up the hem enough so that you can tuck it over after rolling. Here, now you try.”
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Their new nanny took to her job with deadly seriousness, and Hannah was more than simply supervised—almost every hour of her day was planned and managed. Every afternoon Tabitha had an activity for them to do, whether it be simple and fun, or complex and engaging. These weren’t introduced as surprises, either, and Hannah would excitedly ramble on away about what Tabitha had planned for them to do tomorrow and the next day and the next. Hannah’s large Disney collection of storybooks, for instance, each happened to be too tall to fit in the shelving unit they had for Hannah’s books. So, one Tuesday the girls got measuring tape and construction paper and played at being architects, drafting up designs for new shelves while using a ruler to create a simple diagram and then labeling it in with numbers. The underage engineers then searched through the spare pieces of wood in the garage, measuring and debating how they would fit together, and returned to draft a new design with what materials they had available. After a plan for a much shorter custom shelving unit was finalized, it was taken to the boss for approval—the bedridden Mr. Macintire was thrilled to play the part and scrutinize their drawings.
On Wednesday, Hannah helped Tabitha carry all the boards outside, measure out and draw cut lines on the wood with marker, and set aside the paint they’d discovered for painting at the end of the week. Thursday afternoon, an amused Matthew arrived to read through an ‘order’ of instructions the girls had written for him, and was familiar enough with the Macintire’s power tools to do the simple cuts and assembly. Mrs. Macintire didn’t miss that Tabitha sat down in the garage afterwards for two hours to sand smooth all the edges and surfaces of their new furniture smooth while Hannah watched television.
By Friday, Hannah was so impatient to paint her new shelves she was hopping in place, and Mrs. Macintire was able to take an entire batch of photos of the girls working away at the project, errant dabs of purple on Tabitha’s cheek and the tip of Hannah’s nose. When Hannah’s attention span started wavering in painting halfway through and she got sidetracked, the little girl was tasked with the important mission of taking an early bath so that she could clear space in her room for the new furniture. Tabitha once again spent extra hours in the garage, carefully tilting the shelves so that she could reach the top with her brush, and then went through the trouble of applying the entire second coat herself.
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“Tabitha, you’re a live-in nanny, NOT our cook,” Mrs. Macintire had warned the girl. Repeatedly. “You’re not even fourteen years old, you don’t need to be making us breakfast every morning, okay?”
The cunning girl had nodded in understanding… and then simply continued to prepare meals for everyone. Sandra was honestly embarrassed not to have realized that fact at first, because Tabitha was just so clever and reasonable about it. Instead of asking what they would like for breakfast, the wretched sneak changed her approach.
“I think I’d like to make myself french toast today—if you’re alright with me using a few of the eggs?” Tabitha would say.
“Of course,” Sandra naturally agreed. “Like I said, hun, treat everything in that fridge like it’s yours, okay?”
Ten minutes later, Tabitha had worn carefully constructed a look of concern as the mouthwatering aroma of fresh griddled french toast filled the kitchen. “Something about this just tastes… off.”
“Oh?” Sandra would say as she bustled about with her coffee trying to square herself away before work. “It smells great.”
“I think maybe I’m not used to using, um, well the ingredients you have here are different brands,” The clever girl had made herself appear crestfallen. “Or, maybe it’s that you have vanilla extract when I’m used to using imitation vanilla? I followed the recipe, but it just tastes… off. It’s not like it should be at all.”
“I’m sure it’s fine, hun,” Sandra had felt herself waver, still at that point unable to see that Tabitha’s disappointment was affected.
“Maybe I added too much cinnamon?” Tabitha had frowned, looking about in distress. “Oh—you already have a bagel you’re taking with you. Do you think Mr. Macintire would try a bite, and help me see what I’m doing wrong? But, I don’t want to wake him up…”
“Alright, gimme a bite,” Sandra had sighed. “But just ONE bite.”
Before she’d even realized what she’d done, Mrs. Macintire finished the entire slice of french toast that’d been offered over to her. She screwed up her face as she chewed in complete bafflement—how the fuck had Tabitha even made this? It wasn’t just good, it was damned good. Professional, even. This wasn’t simple home cooking, and it wasn’t diner fare, either. This was some sort of five-star restaurant using expensive premium ingredients kind of eating, like she only enjoyed on major occasions. Major occasions like her honeymoon or the subsequent anniversary date nights every year, when they went some place nice they normally wouldn’t splurge quite so much money on. Sandra had found herself looking around in confusion for the aforementioned recipe Tabitha had teased her with, but there was nothing in sight. It was apparently all in the head of this nervous-looking teen in front of her.
“It’s too much cinnamon, isn’t it?” Tabitha had given her an apologetic wince. “Should I… I don’t want to waste food but should I throw it out?”
“Tabitha hun, it’s completely fine,” Sandra hurried to assure her. “It’s actually really good!”
Having been unknowingly suckered into the girl’s trap, Mrs. Macintire was already cleaning crumbs from her forefinger and thumb with her mouth, hesitating to grab her boring old bagel and head out to the car. There was an adorable little stack of french toast Tabitha had plated up beside the griddle, the beauties seared a golden brown and each artfully dusted with a dash of powdered sugar. They even looked like gourmet fine food—how the hell had they been prepared in her kitchen, from the ordinary stuff in her fridge and cabinets?
“I thought, that since the extract is a little more potent than imitation vanilla, that I’d use a bit less, but then I didn’t think to adjust the cinnamon I used to match,” Tabitha had sighed as if Sandra’s response was just polite words to humor her. “I should have realized. I’ll eat them all so that I’m not wasting all your ingredients, at least.”
“No, Tabitha—it’s really good,” In the moment Sandra had only been afraid Tabitha would decide to change whatever proportions she’d used and not be able to recreate this absolutely divine french toast. “Would you mind if I took another one?”
“Please do,” Tabitha had seemed to light up at Sandra’s genuine interest. “Oh—but I don’t want to make you late for work. Here, I can wrap up a slice to take with you.”
“Sure, that’d be great,” Sandra had been completely suckered in.
Twenty minutes after that, Sandra was sitting in the break room of the Fairfield Safety Plant just outside the office, realizing that Tabitha had prepared three slices of the heavenly french toast, the little bundle neatly wrapped up in the long quilted pot holder from the far kitchen drawer that Sandra normally only saw during Thanksgiving and Christmas.
“Shit,” Sandra had sworn—after immediately wolfing all of it down, and even feeling an acute sense of loss when there wasn’t any more. “Watched it all happen, and the little minx STILL got me. Her acting wasn’t even THAT good! It’s just that her damn cooking IS. Dammit. Not letting her cook for us tomorrow. This was amazing, but I’m puttin’ my foot down. She’s a live-in nanny, NOT our cook.”
The next morning, however, Sandra rose to see Tabitha had managed to wake Hannah up early, and was walking her daughter through how to make pancakes. The little girl stood on a chair in front of the stovetop, but Tabitha’s good hand never left Hannah’s side or allowed the girl to lose balance in either direction. A little brow furrowed in adorable concentration, and with both tiny hands gripping the spatula, Hannah carefully managed to finagle the implement beneath a pancake and then flip it over.
“Perfect!” Tabitha whispered. “Nice. Right in the center. Now Hannah, this side won’t have the little bubbles you can see, so how do you suppose you’ll know when it’s ready?”
“Count the seconds?” Hannah guessed.
“That is a good idea, but look, we can cheat—since both sides are a little cooked now, you can just take the spatula again and lift it a tiny bit to take a peek at how it’s doing. The griddle is very hot, so—?”
“Always use the spatula, never my fingers,” Hannah repeated out what must have been an earlier lesson at Tabitha’s clear prompt. “Because you’ll burn your fingers.”
Alright, I give—obviously this morning doesn’t count and I’m having some of my daughter’s homemade pancakes, Mrs. Macintire beamed as she stepped closer and saw that someone had already started up the coffee maker for her. But TOMORROW, tomorrow I’m definitely putting my foot down. For sure.
When each tomorrow arrived, however, Tabitha continued to push the line between what was acceptable and what was overdoing it. On the evening Mrs. Macintire finally resolved to sit Tabitha down and talk to her about it, it was difficult finding the right words to say. Hannah was situated in front of her cartoons, and Sandra called Tabitha back into the master bedroom where Darren was so that his presence would help convey how serious she was about this.
“Okay. Hun—you’re not in trouble, so I don’t want you to be nervous,” Mrs. Macintire stressed. “However, you’ve been with us for a little over a week now, and… you’re doing way too much. Going a little overboard. I wanted you to be here and help look after Hannah, have someone around in case my husband had an emergency or something. I did not intend for you to be our housemaid, or do our laundry, or cook all of our meals, or, or become a live-in tutor for Hannah.”
“I do appreciate you bringin’ me in sandwiches for lunch every day,” Officer Macintire said.
“Yes, we do appreciate everything,” Sandra gave her husband a rather unappreciative backhand on the shoulder and a glare. “But—this is all too much. Tabitha honey, I don’t want you to burn yourself out with all of this or run yourself ragged, okay? I wanted a live-in babysitter to help me with Hannah, not… for you to slave away trying to do everything. Do you understand?”
“I do understand,” Tabitha said with a sigh, “and, I did try to warn you.”
“Warn me?” Mrs. Macintire was at a loss. “Honey—warn me about what?”
“You’ve done too much for me,” Tabitha explained with a small smile. “Saving me from my situation, offering me a home—spending so much money. I’m deeply, deeply indebted to you, and if I don’t do something about that, guilt and… shame will just eat me up from the inside.”
“Tabitha, no, there’s nothing for you to feel guilty about,” Mrs. Macintire hurried to assure her. “Most of that was your money, we were just able to give you an advance on it. We just wanted to be able to provide some space from all that mess with your family, let you live a more… normal life.”
“I think you don’t understand how much that means to me,” Tabitha countered. “I love Hannah. I love being here, being able to pretend you’re my family. I have hours and hours to myself while Hannah’s at school, and when she’s here, I can keep myself busy. Keeping myself busy, having things to focus on, I need that to keep all the thoughts away. And, I really enjoy helping. Please don’t ask me to stop.”
“I—well,” Mrs. Macintire deflated a little. “So long as you know you don’t have to, that we don’t expect you to, Hon. You’re under no obligation, do you understand?”
“I understand, and I apologize for allowing this to become a point of concern.”
“You don’t have to pretend that we’re your family, either,” Officer Macintire added. “You’re here—you’re family. Hannah looks up to you like you’re a real-life Disney princess, an’ just hangs on your every word. You know both of us think the world of you.”
“I—I’m deeply honored,” Tabitha struggled with her words for a moment. “Thank you. Truly, thank you for inviting me into your home.”
“She speaks like a Victorian duchess when she’s embarrassed,” Sandra confided to her husband. “Isn’t she cute?”
“Oh, I thought it was just one of those soulless ginger things,” Darren joked, almost flinching back before his wife was able to smack him, this time. “Ow, hey, watch it! I’m recovering, here, lady.”
“You! No more gingers have no souls shenanigans, no more carrot top jokes. They were never funny, and the last thing we need is Hannah picking up on that garbage,” Mrs. Macintire insisted, jabbing the man with her finger before turning it towards Tabitha. “And, you! Just… please, please take it easy a little. I worry about you, kiddo.”
“I’m fine, I promise,” Tabitha said with a solemn face. “I’m better than I’ve been in a long time.”
“Well… good. You slow down a bit, you relax some, and… hell, you’d better be all rested up for your big birthday party, hun. Because, Karen and I? We’re goin’ all out on this thing!”