Page 19 of Unleashed

Like Saturday, I make it with two minutes to spare, pulling up to the pickup lane in the nick of time. As the worker helps me get Zara into place, it’s clear I’m not the only one who appreciates my new van. The process takes less than half the time it normally does, and I’m pulling away in under five minutes.

Zara is her usual self as we drive home, chatting about her day the whole way. I do my best to listen and act interested, but I’m not as social as my sister, and my battery is already depleted. I work up as much excitement as I can when she tells me about what she painted in art class, because I want her to feel heard. And I’m sure I’ll be delighted to see her newest contribution to the gallery that is our refrigerator, but right now, the thrill is lacking.

Because bugs.

I get her home, stopping just inside the front door so we can investigate. The braids I worked into her thick head of hair are already obliterated since both the school and the afterschool center triple checked to make sure she wasn’t spreading the love.

But until I see it for myself, I’m going to assume the worst.

I had lice more times than I could count when I was a kid. I remember how humiliating it was to be sent to the office over and over again because my mom couldn’t be bothered to get rid of them. And since I was a kid, I couldn’t buy the treatment at the drugstore or haul all my bedding to the laundromat. I was at the mercy of a woman who might have been a good person at one point in her life, but was so twisted up with addiction nothing else mattered. Including me.

As I begin carefully combing through Zara’s hair, section by section, she begins to complain. “They already did this.”

“I know, but I want to be sure.” Not only for her benefit, but also for mine. I’m pretty sure getting head lice as an adult would lead to a sort of PTSD situation, and I don’t have time for that right now. “Has your head been itchy at all?”

“No.” Her impatience isn’t even thinly veiled. “Can we do this after dinner? I’m hungry.”

“There’s no way you’re hungry. I packed you a million snacks.” I’m sure I go overboard in many ways when it comes to Zara, and the amount of food I send her each day is definitely one of them. “Did you eat them all?”

“Part of them.” There’s something off in her tone.

I lean around, looking at her face. “Why did you only eat part of them?”

“Liam’s mom didn’t pack him any snacks again, so I gave him some of mine so he wouldn’t be hungry.” Her eyes are big as they meet mine. “I know you gave them to me, but he was so sad when everybody could eat snacks but him.”

I drop to my knees, all my frustration and aggravation from the long day behind me and the long evening in store slipping away. “That was such a wonderful thing for you to do.”

There are days when I question everything I do as a parent. I wonder if I’m fucking her up just as much as my mother did me, except in different ways. I worry she will grow up to be bitter and cynical and closed off because that’s what she sees me being.

But in moments like this, I have hope. That maybe I’m not doing so bad after all. That if nothing else, I’m raising a good human. Someone who’s kind and friendly. Funny and warm. Someone empathetic and generous.

Someone who would’ve been a friend to five-year-old me even though my clothes smelled bad, and there were always holes in my shoes.

“You are the coolest kid, you know that?” I lean forward, kissing her on the forehead. “I love the crap out of you.”

Zara smiles wide at me. “I love the crap out of you too.” Her brows lift. “Now can we have dinner?”

“Yes.” I stand, getting behind her so I can pull her hair back into a quick messy bun. “Now we can have dinner.” I wheel her into our little dining room, positioning her at the table before offering up the tablet I know she’s going to ask for. “And after dinner, we are going to take a bath.”

“What?” She whines. “I just took a bath last night.”

“And you’re going to take one again tonight. I want to use the minty shampoo on your hair.” It’s one of the tricks I learned from one of the nurses at school. Since I couldn’t rely on my mother to get rid of the lice, the nurse was nice enough to help me find ways to prevent them. “That way we don’t have to worry about anything.”

I quickly put together our meal, assembling one of our favorites—breakfast for dinner.

While I eat, I put in an order from the closest drug store. Is it more expensive to have it delivered? Of course. But now I can afford to splurge a little here and there, and tonight I want to stay home in my pajamas and relax. While doing the laundry. And packing lunches. And washing and drying Zara’s hair. And finishing up a report for Brooke.

“Ugh.” I shove in a bite of scrambled egg. “I need a vacation.”

Zara looks up from the tablet I probably let her spend too much time staring at. “Can we go on a vacation?”

I automatically brace, the way I did for years when I had to tell Zara we couldn’t sign her up for a class her friends were taking or go to the zoo or eat takeout.

But I don’t have to do that anymore. Now she can take dance classes and we have zoo passes and we get takeout one night a week.

And even with the new van payment added to my monthly bills, there’s probably enough for us to go on a vacation. It won’t be to a tropical paradise, but I’m sure I can still come up with something amazing. Something she’ll remember forever.

A smile creeps across my face. “We can totally take a vacation.”