Snowed Under (Aspen Peaks #2)

4. Madeline

T here were few things in life I enjoyed less than waking up screaming. Very few, though.

Standing at the edge of my bed, inches from my face, Piper stood, silent, at gremlin height, with a perfectly straight expression.

I reared back, gasping for air and clutching the tank top I’d passed out in. My laptop beside me groaned as I leaned on it. It was still there from the night before, when I’d fallen asleep attempting to finish studying a random Quizlet I’d found on the human nervous system.

“Gah!” I shouted before lowering my voice. “Piper, stop doing that.”

The view from the window behind her showed that it was still dark out, the streetlamps casting an orange glow in the distance. Best-case scenario, it was six a.m. Worst-case, it was four.

Ever since she was five months old, little Piper had been an early bird. No exceptions. It was like her body had its own alarm clock, and when it went off, there was no convincing it to go back to sleep. No snoozes allowed. Once, I ran a test, thinking that if she stayed up till midnight, maybe she would sleep later. She woke up at four thirty, wide-eyed and yanking on my hair.

Piper pulled on the edge of my blanket, exposing my abdomen to the cool air. “Sham Jam?”

My arms stretched high above me, tapping against the fabric headboard, and shivers ran down my whole body as I yawned.

“MayMay?” She pulled the white comforter farther. “Sham Jam?”

I nodded; eyes still closed. “Yes, baby. I’ll get you a Slim Jim.”

Just like with movies, Piper had her phases when it came to snacks. Some months, it was fruit or a certain cereal. Other times, it was cherry tomatoes or a specific Pop-Tart flavor. This month, it was Slim Jims.

Forcing my body to catch up with my mind, I sat up and swung my legs over the side of the bed, following a tiny, very much awake Piper into our kitchen.

Slim Jims weren’t the most nutritious thing to eat first thing in the morning, but I was all for avoiding tantrums when at all possible. Plus, when Charlie woke up, I would give them a real breakfast. This was just like pre-brekky. An appetizer.

With two Sham Jams in hand, Piper and I made our way to the couch, plopping down with a throw blanket and putting on Pocahontas for the one millionth time. I kept finding myself humming the background music as I cleaned yesterday. Thankfully, we were reaching a new transition time for her, and I was going to start pushing Brave or Finding Nemo this kid’s way.

Piper happily settled into my lap and munched away at her meat stick, tilting her head back into my chest. I leaned forward to meet her and planted a kiss at her temple.

He left them for you.

I breathed in deeply, soaking in the toddler cuddles that I knew would soon be gone. They’d be replaced by cranky preteen hormones and a house reeking of Axe body spray and Bath and Body Works cherry blossom body mist. But for now, I had my little Piper, who went through her phases and her ups and downs but never once denied me a cuddle.

Polishing off both of her snacks, Piper begged for more—which was a long whining sound mixed with a shh and an mmm noise. She must have somehow sensed my lack of rest because she ended up settling with my sleepily mumbled in a little while.

My mother’s comments still rested in my head. The ones that built up over time. The I’ve heard that causes development issues in kids. Should we check in to that? to the Are we giving her enough milk? As if something as simple as an extra cup of milk would magically repair speech delays.

She always said we as if we were actually a we. The word felt like a trick, like a way for her to plant her tiny anxious seed in my chest and watch it bloom into an oak tree, shading all the good things I’d accomplished in life. She knew if she said we in that way, it would come off more like concern and less like the whole I think you have no clue what you’re doing and it’s obvious thing.

To make matters more complicated, it wasn’t that my mom was the worst person in the world. You could go a whole lot lower on the how shitty are your parents? icebreakers. All of the true crime podcasts I’d listened to warned me of that much. Some days Mom was wonderful. A beautiful beaming light that shone around you, and you thought hey, maybe she’s not such a pain. Days where she plastered a smile on and was as polite as she could manage. I remembered days in high school where she would randomly check me out and open the door for me and say Let’s go shopping! We would stroll through Target and buy entirely unnecessary items, then go back home, settling in on the couch and going over our haul like we hadn’t just witnessed what the other bought.

Then there were the other days. Here and there, she would snip at you or make a sly comment that felt a little harsher than usual. But this whole we thing was a new development since Will and Savannah had passed. Or more so since she realized that they weren’t leaving Piper and Charlie to my parents, but to me.

She was kind of like a fly living in your bedroom. As long as you were away and kept to yourself, you would never notice her. But when you lay down at night, finally able to relax, you’d start hearing that buzzing in your ear. A comment here, a remark there, and next thing you knew, you were up at two a.m. with an electric fly swatter and a crazed look in your eye. We.

I picked at my fingernails, frustration and yet a little bit of embarrassment burning in my chest. Since the moment these kids had become mine, Mom never stopped telling me how concerned she always was with their health. Despite the fact that when Will and Savannah were both still here, I’d never heard a single comment from her.

I mean, would my brother and his wife give them Slim Jims at five a.m.? Maybe not. Actually, knowing how many green smoothies Savannah drank when she was pregnant with Pipes, probably not at all. I doubted she even knew what a Slim Jim was. But they still left these kids to me. My name was written in bold letters on that will, and that had to mean something.

I was exhausted down to my bones. And nothing sounded better than meaningless scrolling for a few hours and a nice long, hot bath before slamming an entire box of oatmeal cream pies and taking a nap on the couch. But I hadn’t been handed a life where such things were possible. So instead, I straightened my back a little and turned my head to Piper.

“You want to go to the playground, Pipes?”

Her tiny head bobbed up and down excitedly before she made a whoosh noise and curved her hand, waving it around.

“Yeah, we can do the slide.”

She did it again, more exaggerated this time, eyes wide, hand moving faster, and her smile growing.

I snorted. If given the chance, this kid would gladly climb up to the roof and jump off to see whether she could fly. An adrenaline junkie, if I’d ever met one. “Yes, darling. The big slide.”

As long as we stayed home and sat around, I was going to be even more exhausted. Knowing my bed was mere feet away made it tempting to stay in all day and put these babies in front of some high-sensory TV so I could hit some REM cycles.

Are we sure they’re not having too much screen time?

I ground down on my molars. Might as well make the most of it and get these kids out of the house and somewhere where they actually have fun. “Maybe we could go to the library after, yeah?”

Piper slid down from my lap, not bothering to reply, and ran straight to the back entrance to grab her shoes. I laughed, and it felt like tiny flowers blooming in my chest. This little one had that effect on people.

“No, baby. We’ll go after your brother gets up.”

I didn’t know how, but if there was a way for her to say screw my brother. I’m going without either of you with her eyes, I swore she did it then.

My tiny circle might have been pure chaos, but they were my chaos. And I loved them all the same.