Page 124 of Faultlines

Some prize.

Winning it feels a lot like losing everything that ever made it a home.

At least Ellie talks to me now, even if it’s usually only one-word answers. Two months ago, she couldn’t even look at me.

Now she spends every other weekend here, but I can’t shake the feeling that she’s only here because the custody agreement says she has to be. Once, she even let me help with her homework. I tell myself it’s progress, even if it’s probably just because Claire is terrible at math.

The sound of a car outside pulls me from my thoughts. I glance at the clock—nine thirty. Right on time.

The front door bursts open, letting in a gust of autumn air.

“Morning,” I answer, already smiling as I step into the foyer.

Ellie doesn’t look at me. She shoulders past with her backpack slung over one shoulder, earbuds already in. Before I can say another word, she’s halfway up the stairs.

“Hey, El. How was school this week?”

She doesn’t slow down. “Fine.”

“I picked up those cinnamon rolls you like.”

No response. Her bedroom door slams hard enough to rattle the picture frames lining the hallway.

I knock on her bedroom door. “Ellie?”

Silence.

“Can I come in?”

“No.”

Thirty minutes later I knock again. “Ellie, I’m heading to the office for a couple of hours.”

Silence.

“I was thinking maybe you could come with me. You don’t have to talk to me. My office still looks exactly like it did when you were eight. I figured maybe it’s time someone with actual taste fixed it.”

Finally, a muffled reply comes from behind the door. “It’s really bad,” she says.

After a long pause, she adds, “Do you still have that ugly lamp?”

I can’t help smiling. “Unfortunately.”

Silence stretches between us.

“Fine,” she says at last, drawing the word out as if agreeing might physically pain her.

“Reid’s going to love this—he’s been begging me to let you redesign the lobby since you said his taste was ‘aggressively beige.’”

I stand in the doorway, staring at the evidence of my daughter’s weekend project. The conference room looks like a craft store exploded. The polished mahogany table is covered with colored pencil sketches, the presentation boards display fabric swatches like colorful butterflies, and Ellie left a stack of architectural magazines scattered in the corner on Saturday.

What started as a simple visit to the office somehow turned into a complete redesign proposal for the conference room and front lobby. The ridiculous part is that several of her ideas are actually good.

“You know, most people let their kids draw on paper.”

I glance over my shoulder to find Reid leaning against the door frame, an amused grin playing on his lips.

“Good morning to you too.”