Mickey - The View From Here PART TWO - Gallavich

My Kid's Mommy Issues

“So, they bought the story about Debbie being out of town on work,” Ian told me about Franny’s school. “They still wanna talk to her, though. Maybe we should try reaching out again over Facebook or something. Maybe if she realizes Franny could be taken away, she’ll get her shit together and come back.”

“She left Franny in a bar to run away with her girlfriend,” I pointed out as I changed out of my clothes for the day. “Doesn’t look like she gives a shit where Franny goes.”

Already relaxing in our bed, Ian furrowed his brow in thought before he defended his sister. “She gives a shit. She knew Franny was surrounded by family, that we’d take care of her. This is just some sort of break. A vacation to sew her wild oats because she was a mom at 16. She’ll come back. She might even be less of a brat.”

I chuckled at his optimism. “For sure.”

Sensing my sarcasm, he insisted, “she will. I know Debbie. She would not abandon Franny like Monica did to us.”

“She already did, man,” I gently reminded him. “You don’t think Fran’s gonna remember all this? Her mom just, poof, gone. Movin’ in with us. Seeing me get my ass handed to me. That shit leaves an impression.”

“Could be worse,” Ian claimed.

I laughed and joined him in bed. “Damn right, it could be worse. Could be a lot better, too.”

Ian closed his eyes and slowly breathed in and out. “How could she? After everything with Monica, how can Debbie just forget how it felt and do the same fucking thing? Do you have any idea how many times I held Debbie growing up with her sobbing over our mom ditching us to go party or ‘get her shit together?’”

I put my arm across his chest to hold him. “Life’s a bitch like that. Andy the Shrink said it happens all the time with trauma. People sometimes turn into the monster, just so they won't be prey.”

Opening his pretty eyes, my husband smiled at me. “Look at you, all self-actualized and shit.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

He beamed at me before giving me a kiss. “I’m proud of you, sticking with this therapy thing.”

“You said it was important,” I reasoned, not used to the concept of someone being proud of me.

Ian kissed me once more, pulling me closer as he turned onto his side to face me. Holding the nape of my neck, Ian rushed my mouth with his tongue.

With my breath growing heavy, I kissed him back with longing, pulling his hips toward mine.

A knock at the door sucked the mood out of the room.

We separated and called our niece in. “What’s wrong, Franny?”

The little girl stood so small in our doorway, melancholy painted on her pale face. “I can’t sleep. Can you read me a story?”

Ian did his best not to look bothered.

“I want uncle Mickey to read to me,” Franny told him.

I cast my husband a preemptive glare. “You say I can’t read one more time, and I’mma call your cult buddies and tell them to come to sermon.”

With a giggle, Ian kissed me on the cheek and watched me guide Franny back to her room, previously the spare bedroom.

Franny hopped into her little bed and crossed her arms over her chest, waiting for me to tuck her in.

When Debbie first took off, Franny seemed oddly adaptable to her new living situation. Fast forward a few months, and it was clear she was struggling. I had to credit the kid, she kept her shit together better than I ever had at her age.

Still, I hated to see her this way, wavering from pretending to be happy, to an empty stare that came on when she thought about Debbie. Then there was the fighting, her anger.

I called back to something she had said to me earlier that day. “I get angry a lot, too,” I told her as I tucked her in under her Scarlett Witch blanket. “I was just pissed off all the time when I was your age. I learned something a lot time ago, though. Anger, it’s powerful. Dangerous. And when we hold onto it, it turns to poison. So hating the world might be a solution right now, but don’t stay in that place. It’ll eat you alive.”

Franny thought on this. “Poison?”

I nodded. “Kinda like poison. You turn mean. Remember my dad?”

She nodded her little red head.

“He was an angry person. Do you get what I mean?”

Franny eyed me warily. “How do I be not mad?”

I shrugged, wishing I knew if I was doing this right. “Forgive your mom? Talk to us? Let yourself be mad, but let it fade when it naturally will.  Just stop pickin’ fights at school until me and Sandy teach you some basics. Deal?“

A tiny smirk emerged on her face. “Deal. I promise.”