Snowed Under (Aspen Peaks #2)

9. Madeline

M y life was incredibly boring. Boring to most, I would assume. As a thirty-year-old woman who was single, I probably should have been out in the world, traipsing down the streets of New York with my own Carrie Bradshaw and learning the promiscuous life lessons of femininity and friendships.

Instead, I lived a life on rotation. Every day the same, my routines never changing.

On Mondays I worked morning shifts and did online classes in the afternoon while Charlie was in school and Piper was with my parents or a babysitter if I was feeling less frugal.

Tuesdays were the same, except after my classes, I had to take Piper to speech therapy while Charlie sat in the lobby on his Nintendo Switch.

Wednesdays were slightly less crazy, with no classes. But I would force us out of the house by taking the kids to the five-dollar—toddlers watch for free—movies at our local cinema.

Thursdays were the same as Tuesdays, plus Charlie had lessons while Pipes was in speech therapy.

Fridays were the same as Mondays.

Weekends were mostly work and ski lessons for Charlie.

Repeat.

Again and again, over and over until the end of time. Or until these kids grew up, and it suddenly hit me that I indeed spent years with my head in the sand, taking it day by day. Sometimes hour by hour. Getting through life one Ghirardelli chocolate square at a time.

Not that I didn’t like our routines or that I was miserable by any means. I liked our small, simple life. But it never felt all the way full. It felt like I was putting every piece of myself into these two humans that I loved with all the tiny centimeters of my heart.

I kept thinking, once I get through this semester, I’ll be satisfied. Or once I can get Piper out of diapers, I’ll be happy. Currently, I’d put my hope in the idea that once I graduated and could use my degree, then I would give myself and these wonderful tiny humans the life we deserved. If all went according to plan, then that was only a year from now. And in the grand scheme of life, a year wasn’t that long, right? We would make it, slowly, surely. Maybe hour by hour, but I was going to get us there. If not for myself, for them. Possibly also for my nagging mother, who believed cleaning was about the most “humble”—she meant self-deprecating—job to exist on this earth.

“Piper?” the receptionist called.

Piper lifted her head from the tiny Pocahontas doll in her hands, looking back toward me for reassurance. Maybe I shouldn’t like how much she hates people, but I couldn’t help that it gave me a sense of security. No number of puppies or amount of candy in white vans would distract this girl.

I nodded to her and grabbed the diaper bag, walking with her over to the back area of the speech therapy office. Dr. Lora, who Piper called Lo-la on the days she talked, stood there with a bright, shining smile. She looked more like a cozy nanny than an actual doctor, and her “office” was like a kid’s dream playroom.

I was hesitant to take my girl to any speech therapists at first. But I’d overheard a group of moms talking about how well their kids did with her, so I made an appointment, and from day one, she had been incredible. With long, smooth, white hair and the kindest smile, it was impossible not to love her. She wasn’t one to rush anywhere; when she played with Piper, working on all the oohs and er sounds, she moved at this unhurried pace. Like she had all the time in the world for her. And when she talked, Pipes tuned in intently, like she was giving her the secret code to a vault of Slim Jims. Even I hated to leave by the time her sessions were done.

“Hey, Pipes!” Dr. Lora waved. My girl—who hated just about anyone she wasn’t related to—grinned up at her with those tiny teeth shining and waved just as excitedly back.

I followed them to the toddler room in the back, taking my usual seat in the reading corner surrounded by fake food, squishy foam balls, and fluffy stuffed animals. The surrounding walls were adorned with vibrant rainbow murals and clouds shaped like different animals. My personal favorite was the elephant in a ballerina tutu.

Piper sat down at the same table she always chose, and Lora went straight to the Mrs. Potato Head in the corner, setting it on the table and smiling as my niece started pulling out the accessories one by one.

Dr. Lora turned to me next. “Madeline, do you mind if I have a word with you?”

She must have seen the unease on my face, because she held up two defensive hands. “Nothing bad. Just wanted your opinion on something.” She gave me this soft smile that reassured me enough to stand and follow her out the open door.

“We’ll be right back, bug,” I whispered to Pipes, and she nodded without looking up at me.

The doctor and I turned the corner, and she whispered low to me. “I was wondering if this week, just as a trial, you would mind sitting in the lobby.”

Alarm bells rang in my head in an instant, my self-defense mechanisms coming alive, ready for battle. “Do you think I’m…making her worse?”

It was my first assumption, considering my mom had made a comment on more than one occasion about me possibly stunting her speech by not correcting her more. But then again, Dr. Lora was the one who told me all speech was good speech. If she was saying new words, I shouldn’t correct it the first time. Just praise that she said it.

Her brows dipped, and she shook her head, reaching a hand out to my elbow and touching it lightly. “Oh, no, no, no. Don’t take it as an insult. I didn’t mean harm by it. It’s just…” She sighed and looked up before focusing on me. “I think you are her biggest comfort. Her safety net. That’s a beautiful thing. You’re blessed to have it. But often when kids are so attached to their parent—guardians,” she corrected, “they don’t try as hard. Again, not an insult. But I believe she doesn’t feel like she has to push herself farther if you’re around, because she knows you’re there as a buffer.”

Why did I feel like I was about to cry?

She continued, and I gnawed on my bottom lip. “I’ve noticed over the years that some kids do better when someone they love is near. But sometimes they hold themselves back. It’s not uncommon, given her circumstances. Let’s try it once, okay? You can sit outside the door and listen the entire time. If either of you hates it, I won’t ask again.”

I considered it for a moment before nodding. She smiled at me and went back into the room.

“Piper, your MayMay”—I loved that she called me that—“is going to sit in the lobby today, so it’s just us for once, is that okay?”

Piper’s green eyes looked from me to Dr. Lora and back, before she lifted her arm, Potato Head lips in hand, and waved goodbye to me. I waved right back, taking a few steps away, watching as she went right back to her toy. She rarely had meltdowns when I dropped her off at my mom’s anymore. It wasn’t like I expected her to fall on the floor, begging for me. Yet somehow, it kind of stung. My Piper, one half of the little gifts my brother had left me, was growing, becoming her own tiny person, and I could do nothing to stop it.

I sat just outside the door, a few feet away. Close enough where I could listen but far enough away that I wouldn’t be seen.

An hour and ten tissues later, I had about twenty videos on my phone recording Piper’s tiny voice coming from the room.

She wasn’t reciting Shakespeare or prepping for a wedding speech, but that little voice was repeating words and sounds that I’d never heard from her.

When Lora would pull out one of those surprise eggs and asked if she should open it. Instead of just nodding, Pipes, in the tiniest, cutest, clear-as-day voice, said “yes” from the inside of that room, and I practically melted into the floor. She never told me yes, or yeah, or anything other than a simple head nod. The only words Piper spoke to me were the ones she felt were necessary. Sham Jams, Pokey, and Cah-lee (Charlie) being the extent. She always nailed down MayMay, but other than that, she was mostly silent or communicated with a scrambled batch of noises that I could piece together just enough.

It was selfish of me to cry, but I couldn’t find it in me to stop. The floodgate was open, and the tears were pouring faster than ever when it hit me. She was at her best when I wasn’t there.

You are valuable.

He left them for you.

I tried so hard to muster those words, to say them over and over again to myself, but they didn’t feel true anymore. At the end of the day, if I wasn’t MayMay—if I wasn’t the one person these two kids needed most in their lives, then what was I?

It felt like someone had ripped out my heart, put a blond wig on it, and walked it right into that rainbow room. I knew these kids weren’t going to need me forever, but that wasn’t the problem. The problem was that I was so stuck in my own survival, in Quizlet cards and cleaning supplies, that I didn’t even notice them evolving before me.

A deep fear of mine resonated in my chest. My mother was right. I was the one stunting her speech. I was the one who was undoubtedly causing the delays. It was my fault. And if she was right about it, how many more of the condescending wes that she threw at me were true?

It felt like my world had been turned upside down entirely. Like this entire time, I was living in only my point of view, but in the last hour, I had been lifted from my body and shown an outside view, and it was nothing like what I expected.

In the room beside me, Dr. Lora hummed a clean-up song, and Piper’s tiny shoes clicked against the floor. The footsteps grew closer, and I did my best to wipe my mascara face, but the moment Piper locked eyes with me, she pointed right at me.

“May?” she asked in this tone that spoke volumes. This tone that asked me why I was sad.

I shook my head and slapped on the biggest, brightest fake smile I knew how to make. “Nothing, baby. Did you have fun?”

She nodded and smacked two closed fists together with a clicking noise in her mouth. Blocks, she was saying. I sniffed. “Blocks are fun. I’m glad you got to do that.”

As I stood, Dr. Lora came out of the room, pausing abruptly at the sight of my face. I didn’t even want to know what it looked like at the moment.

“Oh, Madeline. I—” Her eyes roamed me. From my watery eyes to the wobble in my lip to my cheeks pulled tight. Her brown eyes softened. “I’m so sorry.”

I shook my head and waved a dismissive hand. “It’s nothing.”

“I had no intention of upsetting you—”

“It’s your job,” I said through a watery laugh. “You are so great at it that it makes me sad.”

“I am good at my job, yes. You also have an exceptional child on your hands.” A few inches taller than me, she squatted. “I didn’t do that to make a point. I just wanted to see if she’d grown more in the last few months than she let on.”

I nodded. “She did.” I heard it all myself.

Dr. Lora nodded. “I do mean it as a compliment. You are a safe place for her. Don’t let that get lost in the weeds. You two have a precious bond that is hard to find, especially given your circumstances.” She looked from me to Piper.

I sniffed once more, feeling slightly more in control of my facial expressions and knowing tonight, when both kids crawled into bed, I was going to give in to the waterworks.

“Well, we should go.” My fingers squeezed Piper’s. “Can you tell Dr. Lora bye?”

“Bah, Lola.”

Dr. Lora smiled at that, and a hint of amusement piqued in my mind at that. “Bye, Piper.”