I wrote this piece of fiction back in 2018, and I can see a little of each of our three kids in the character of Bree. Blended families can be very complex, and I wouldn’t trade ours for anything.
She always eyed her surroundings with a certain level of suspicion when she arrived at our door. It took her a good two hours to shake off the old thoughts and come to the present. I took her sweater and kissed her head—she was still an inch shorter than me, but I was fully aware this would not last.
“Where’s my dad?” she asked, not saying hi or meeting my eyes.
“He’s watering the garden, sweetheart.”
Bree was, at fourteen years old, a complete perfection: unpredictable, funny, beautiful, moody, intelligent, the best storyteller and a marvel to simply watch. Of all our kids, and we had five between us, she was the toughest nut to crack. She showed only a small percentage of her self. Her inner world was where she spent most of her time. Her father and I were privy to it so rarely. But when we were, we savoured every moment.
She hesitated, unsure if she wanted to see him just yet.
I walked to the kitchen and called to her: “Your room is ready for you, honey. Your bed is made and your clothes are clean.” I knew she needed time. Her brother and sister rarely came anymore. They were both away at college, building their own lives. Bree resented being the only one who had to come, to the point where she now opted out of numerous visits. We had seen it coming, anticipated and dreaded it. But knowing that parenting is a long game was key. She would come around, in her way, in her own time.
Being the youngest meant her memories were heavily influenced by her siblings, both biological and otherwise. She was often minimized: “No! That’s not how it happened. You’re remembering it wrong. You were too young.” But now, here she was, the baby, but not a baby anymore. The house was hers to command, with only my sixteen-year-old daughter still at home. Bree was cautious but curious.
Being so like her father had been hard. It meant they butt heads and misunderstood one another constantly. I was a buffer of sorts, and while they each appreciated it, I think, they were also annoyed by it. “It should be easier than this,” I had heard them each say at various times. And sometimes, in my insecurity, I agreed with them. Sometimes I felt like we were all beating a dead horse. But then, by the grace of God, something would shift so I could see how scared we all were-—how hard it could be to live together only part of the time.
Her father tethered himself to her as his youngest, his last vestige of hope in getting it right. She was full of potential but wanted next to none of his influence. In her teenage mind, she was already grown up, already right and no longer in need of him. Period. At least, this is how she acted. Her eyes, though—her eyes would often betray her. They carried in them an open space willing to give him a chance.
She was still standing in the hallway when I brought her a glass of water. Taking it, she walked over and plopped herself on the couch, set the glass down beside her and took out her phone. “What’s for dinner?” she asked.
And with that simple question, I knew she was OK. For the next few days, she was home.
I smiled. “Steak and Caesar salad.”
<3
Photo by Kinga Cichewicz on Unsplash
The Sweetwood Series is available as an audiobook!
Exciting news! The Sweetwood Series — written by me — is available as a beautifully narrated audiobook, featuring the incredible voice talent of my dear friend, Hannah Vandeven. Dive into Sweetwood’s charm, heart, and adventure like never before, brought to life with Hannah’s warmth and captivating storytelling. Whether you’re revisiting the series or discovering it for the first time, the audiobook version adds a whole new layer of magic to the experience. Grab your headphones, settle in, and get swept away! Available now on Amazon!
