she handle this? We have very different views on child-rearing. “You’re not used to handling very young children, and she doesn’t know you. And you don’t know her.” And you don’t know me, and how I want to raise my child, which is very different from the way you raised us.
She waited, braced for a comeback, but her mother gave a tentative smile.
“You’re right, but that’s what this holiday is for. Getting to know each other better. So far we’re getting along just fine. I’m being guided by her.” She scooped up another handful of snow for Tab. “She asked if we could come out here and build a snowman together. I gave her a little breakfast. Just a slice of toast. She told me she likes toast. I presume that was the right thing to do?”
Ella was taken aback. “Yes, that’s—it’s great that you thought to give her something to eat.”
“She didn’t eat a lot on that journey. She wasn’t interested in food. We did a lot of puzzles together. Read a heap of books.”
“You were good with her.” Patient. Attentive.
“She’s a smart girl.”
Ella relaxed a little. This was more familiar. No doubt her mother’s next sentence would be, She’s going to be a doctor or a lawyer.
“She is smart. Sometimes too busy to eat.”
Her mother nodded. “I expect her body clock was all churned up. I tried to get her to eat more breakfast this morning, but she was desperate to be outdoors. I put plenty of layers on her. We held hands the whole way here.” She looked at Ella, troubled. “Did I miss something? Did I do something wrong? Because I thought I had everything covered.”
All her life Ella had desperately longed for her mother’s approval. Look what I’ve done, Mom. Look what I’ve made. Never before had her mother sought her approval.
“You’ve been great.” And maybe they were making headway. Maybe things could be different.
“You’re right that it’s been a while since I’ve been with children Tab’s age.” Her mother scooped up more snow for Tab. “I did some research, but that doesn’t really prepare you for the individual.”
Research? Her mother had done research? What type of research?
“Mom—”
“She’s smart and strong. She knows what she wants, but she has good manners. She’s a credit to you, Ella.”
Her mother had praised her. Her mother had actually praised her.
It made her feel light-headed.
“It’s mostly her.” It was a struggle to keep her voice normal. “And she has her moments when she’s tired.”
“Of course she does. And she asks a lot of questions.”
That was something Ella wasn’t going to disagree with. “She’ll question you until the battery in your brain dies.”
“Is this the age group you teach?”
And just like that they reached a junction. Left or right?
This was the perfect moment to tell her mother the truth, but she didn’t want to do anything to shatter this new, fragile truce.
She chose the safer of the two paths.
“Yes. I’ve always loved this age. They’re learning so much every single day.”
The wind picked up, bringing with it a flutter of snowflakes. They spun and swirled, light as dust.
Her mother was hunkered over the snowman, her coat a splash of color against the snowy landscape, her hair windblown and her face free of makeup. The wound on her head had healed, but there was still a scar. The mother she knew always wore black, and a fierce expression. She strode through life with her mouth pursed, eyes fixed forward, as if not one single body part was allowed to deviate from its brief. This new version of her mother, this peacock-colored, smiling, soft-as-butter, attentive version, wasn’t someone she recognized.
An icy wind snaked through the collar of her coat, and Ella was about to step forward and zip Tab’s coat up to the neck, when her mother leaned across and did exactly that.
“Are you warm enough, honey?”
Honey? Honey?
Her mother never used pet names. Her communication when they were growing up had always been practical. Have you brushed your teeth? Don’t forget your reading book. Pay attention in class. Learn something new every day.
“Yes, thank you, Nanna. I’m like toast. I’ve finished the head.” Tab pushed, pressed and patted. “What do you think?”
The snowman was possibly the most misshapen object Ella had ever seen.
She held her breath, waiting for her mother to kill Tab’s joyful moment with a careless remark about how she should keep trying until she was perfect at it, but instead Gayle clapped her hands.