Page 90 of The Way I Hate Him
“Perfect. Can’t wait to spend a lot of time with you,” I say sarcastically.
“Bitter much?”
“Goodbye.” I hang up the phone and then get out of the car.
God, he’s such an ass.
If he’s trying to piss me off on purpose, he’s doing a good job.
My humiliation about last night turns straight into anger, and I revel in it. It’s such a better feeling.
I head up the stairs of the porch to Cassidy’s farmhouse. Not needing to knock, I open the creaky screen door and walk right in, where I catch Mac playing on the floor with Chewy Charles and some Duplos while Ryland is in the kitchen, pulling out a frozen lasagna from the oven.
“Aunt Hattie,” Mac says when she spots me. She runs up to me and plasters her little body to my leg.
“Hey, kiddo,” I say, squeezing her back. “What’s Chewy Charles up to today?”
“Making friends with spiders,” Mac answers. “But these spiders are special spiders.”
“What makes them special?” I ask as I take a seat next to her Duplos.
“They like sucking blood.”
“Oh my,” I say. “Whose blood?”
“Duplo blood,” she says in a menacing tone and then she runs her fingers—the spiders—over the Duplos, making sucking noises and then throwing her head back in a maniacal laugh. “Ha ha ha, sucking the blood.”
I glance over at Ryland, clearly concerned about this new development, and he just shrugs as he sets the lasagna on the table.
Okay, so I guess we’re not concerned about the blood-sucking finger spiders. Noted.
“Look at them. They’re so full of blood,” Mac says, moving her fingers in front of my face.
“Yes, plump and juicy with the red stuff,” I say. I’ve never been super great with kids, kind of awkward actually, so I don’t know how to handle or process blood-sucking finger spiders.
“Oh no, the spiders are falling,” Mac says as she tumbles her fingers down in the air. “Chewy Charles, save the spiders.” She picks up her horse and says, “Chewy Charles to the rescue. Catch those spiders. Place them on the ground. Lick them.”
Ahh, the classic narration of MacKenzie. She started it around three, narrating her every move while playing make-believe.
We thought it was odd but also funny, and now, we’re just used to it. I’m just so glad it continued after Cassidy died. One of the many things I’d feared for this little girl was that she’d lose her vivid imagination in her grief.Are you watching your precious girl, Cassidy?
“Good job, Chewy Charles,” I say as I stand. “I need to talk to the captain of the house now—”
“This isn’t a boat, Aunt Hattie. You can just say Uncle Ry Ry.”
“My apologies,” I say, working my way into the kitchen. “I need to speak to Uncle Ry Ry.”
“Much better,” she says, slowly nodding at me and smiling.
Ohh-kay.
I turn toward Ryland and say, “She’s something else.”
“Tell me about it.” He keeps his eyes on the garlic bread that’s in the oven, keeping the oven door partially open. “She screamed at me this morning because I sat on one of her imaginary spider babies. It took me fifteen minutes to calm her down. She was late to preschool, and I was late to school.”
“Did you know the spiders were there?”
He glances over his shoulder at me. “Do you think I would have sat on them if I did?”
