I came home to find Estelle on her knees beside shattered dishes while Lenette shielded her from Lorna.
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Chapter 17 / 27
Chapter 17 - ESTELLE’S FOOD
For months, Estelle asked before eating.
“Can I have this?”
Even food placed on her plate.
“Yes.”
“Still?”
“Yes.”
“Even if I talk?”
“Yes.”
“Even if grown-ups are talking?”
“If you interrupt, I may ask you to wait. I will not take dinner away.”
She nodded.
Then asked again next meal.
We kept answering.
Predictability.
Not indulgence.
One day she spilled milk.
Froze.
Looked at me.
I handed her a towel.
“Help me wipe?”
She burst into tears.
I panicked.
“What?”
“You’re not mad?”
“No.”
She cried harder.
Therapy helped.
Time helped more.
At seven she stopped asking permission for every bite.
At eight she became an excellent baker.
Messiest person alive.
Flour everywhere.
May you like
I never complained about flour again.
That was perhaps excessive.
