“
You look pretty, Mommy.”
“Thank you, sweetheart,” I say, gazing at her in the reflection of the mirror as she watches me, her expression curious. I pat the counter beside the sink, inviting her to join me, and she climbs up to sit on it as I grab a tube of lip-gloss, strawberry flavored. She puckers up, and I put some on her, smiling as I do it. “You know I love you, right, pretty girl? I love you more than everything. More than the trees and the birds and the sky. More than even pepperoni pizza and Harlequin novels.”
“What’s a Harley-Quinn novel?”
“Nothing you’ll need to know about for a long, long time,” I say, putting the lip-gloss away. “Just know that I don’t love them nearly as much as I love you.”
She kicks her feet, grinning. “I love you, too.”
“More than chocolate ice cream and Saturday mornings?”
“Uh-huh,” she says. “More than colors and money!”
“No way.”
“And the Yoo-Hoo drinks and Happy Meal toys.”
“Whoa.”
“And even more than Breezeo!”
Eyes wide, I look at her. That’s some serious commitment coming from my superhero-loving girl. “You know, you can love us the same.”
“Nuh-uh,” she says, shaking her head. “You’re my mommy, so I love you more.”
I press my pointer finger to the tip of her nose. “Well, I sure appreciate it, but remember that it’s okay if you ever do.
”
”
J.M. Darhower (Ghosted)