Baby Carrington

𝐒𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧

Mom and I were going home for Thanksgiving. We were standing in the drive of Jeff's house talking to Jeff and Monica.

"You're traveling light," Mom said to Monica and Jeff.

"It's the Bahamas. What else do I need besides swimsuits and sarongs?" Monica said. 

"While you're on a beach eating conch fritters, I'll be stuck with the traditional football and skeet shooting," Mom said.

"And pumpkin pie," I said.

"You're allergic to pumpkin," Mom said.

"I know, but it's still a tradition," I said.

"Is skeet shooting traditional?" Jeff asked.

"Also, aren't you on exile?" Monica asked.

"Going home for a holiday is the perfect way to get back on Daddy's good side. He'll be begging me to move back before the pie is served," Mom said.

"If you change your mind, you know where we'll be," Jeff said.

"Yeah," Mom said putting me in the car Jeff let her borrow before getting in herself and driving off. I curled up on the seat.

"Can we go to Disney?" I asked.

"Why?" Mom asked.

"Because Thanksgiving is boring. The only good thing is the food. Uncle Steven and Grandpa always end up fighting over something and Grandpa won't let me join in football because he says I'm too small," I said. "He thinks I can't handle myself," 

"Princess, you're six years old and the football game is always adults. You can't play yet because you could get really hurt," Mom said.

"It's unfair," I said.

"No, it's the worry that you'll get seriously hurt Ella. What are you gonna do if you end up breaking your leg or something? Months in a cast will mean no trampolining, no running around, no playing sports in school," Mom said.

"I'm small but mighty," I said.

"El, drop it. You're not playing, end of," Mom said. I rolled my eyes. "Hey. I don't want you getting hurt. Do you remember how much pain I was in when I hurt my leg? I don't want you in pain. Now you can think I'm the worst person in the world and spend the rest of the day sulking," Mom said. I gave up and turned my back to her. We drove to the manor. We sat in the car silently. I started feeling guilty.

"I'm sorry, Mommy. I didn't mean to be like that I just want to play," I said.

"It's okay Princess," Mommy lifted me into her lap. "I know you don't want to be treated like you're a little baby. But you are a little baby. You're my little baby girl. I don't want you getting hurt that's all. Okay?" Mom asked.

"Okay. Next year?" I asked.

"Maybe," Mom said. "Now come on let's go inside," Mom said. We walked out to the garden over to Uncle Steven and Grandpa.

"Thank God you're here. Dad's decided I'm Tom Brady," Uncle Steven said to Mom. 

"Sorry, I'm late," Mom said. I hugged Uncle Steven.

"I wasn't expecting you at all," Grandpa said to Mom.

"You know I'd never miss this. Steven can't just waltz back in here expecting to be QB," Mom said.

"I assume you're ready to apologize? You can't waltz back in here, expect everything to be forgotten," Grandpa said.

"I'm sorry," Mom said.

"Not to me. Cristal," Grandpa called her over.

"What, here? Now?" Mom asked. Grandpa nodded. "I'm sorry," Mom said.