C4 antho - Chamber Four

Peacocks ~97~
Rebecca stood up. “You’ve been very nice, but I think it’s
best to be honest. I am not interested in friendship.” Her
voice was neutral, not unkind.
“Fair enough,” I said, as lightly as I could manage. I
walked back to the sandbox and called my sons out for lunch.
* * * *
“I want to be friends with you,” my husband said when I
rehashed the exchange that night, after the boys had gone to
bed.
“I know, I know, but it’s just so rude. I mean, what did I
do? Gave her kid a couple of cookies. The crime of the century.”
“At least she was direct.”
“You’re no help.”
“Like I said, I like you.” Harry pulled me toward him.
* * * *
It was a temptation I couldn’t resist: letting drop a few
sideways comments to the others while she read on the
bench in the park. La Nausée! Why couldn’t she just say it in
English? Dresses her daughter up in fancy clothes but can’t
be bothered to bring a snack. Why do some people even have
children? Even today I wonder: why was I so undone by this
woman’s refusal to count me as one of her own?
One memory I’d almost forgotten but seems important
now to recount: once, at the park, I heard Rebecca singing
softly while Vera danced around her, swooping and twirling
like a top. When I moved closer, I recognized it, the same
wordless, minor-key melody my mother used to sing to me.