Don't Ask Me Home Again

Ava's POV

I stayed on the floor by the dining room doorway, the cold carrot still in my fist, and watched the rain find my chair.

It came down harder every minute. Drops slid down the glass doors in crooked lines, and past them, out on the dark grass, the lavender frame grew shiny and black. The seat cushion was already soaking it up. I could see it sagging.

Chloe had wandered over to the couch with her ice cream bowl. She didn't even look outside. She was done with being a princess.

"Daddy," I said. "My chair is getting wet."

He was scrolling on his phone. "It's made to be used outside."

"But Mommy says it needs taking care of." My voice came out too fast. "She said the controls and the cushion can't stay in the rain. She said water gets inside and ruins stuff."

Daddy didn't get up. "Your mom makes a big deal out of everything."

Vanessa stacked the empty dishes and carried them to the sink. "The wheels tracked dirt all over my floors, Ava. It'll come back inside after it's been cleaned."

"It's not getting cleaned. It's getting rained on."

"Your mother isn't here, Ava," Vanessa said, and turned on the faucet like that settled it.

I looked back at the glass. When Mommy and I put the butterfly stickers on, she'd held the sheet steady while I peeled them off one by one. Then she'd spent forever fiddling with the armrest, moving it up a little, then down a little, until my elbow sat just right.

*There*, she'd said. *No sore arms for my girl.*

Now the blue butterfly closest to the handle was peeling at one corner, flapping in the wind.

It was right there, maybe thirty steps away. I could have touched the glass if I crawled to it.

But I couldn't go out in the rain and bring it back.

---

Getting back to my room took longer than getting to dinner. My elbows had gone wobbly, and twice I just lay with my cheek on the blanket, breathing.

When I finally dragged myself through my doorway, the lamp was on. My tablet sat on the nightstand next to Bramble, the brown bear Mommy mailed me for my birthday, the one with a tiny suitcase stitched to his paw.

The screen lit up.

*Mommy* flashed across it in white letters, with the little green camera button underneath.

"Mommy!"

I grabbed the bed frame and pulled. My arms shook so hard my teeth clicked. The nightstand was tall, and the tablet was way at the back, where Vanessa always put it. I stretched until my shoulder hurt. My fingertips brushed the edge of the case.

Almost.

The door swung open.

"Daddy!" I twisted around, so happy I nearly slid off the bed frame. "Mommy's calling! Daddy, please!"

He crossed the room in two steps. He looked at the screen, and his face did something weird, like it closed up.

Then he flipped the tablet over, screen down, on the nightstand.

The buzzing kept going against the wood. Then it stopped.

"She's busy with work," he said.

"But she called me." I stared at the back of the tablet. "She was right there. You could just push the button."

"It's late."

"It's not even bedtime yet."

"Go to sleep, Ava."

He picked up Bramble, dropped him on my pillow, and walked out. This time he shut the door.

I sat on the floor with my hand still up in the air.

For weeks, every time I asked to call Mommy, Daddy said she was busy. Mommy has meetings. Mommy's in a different time zone. Don't bother her. But every single time the tablet lit up, he was the one who took it away.

Maybe Mommy wasn't too busy for me.

Maybe Daddy just didn't want me to answer.

---

I woke up on the floor next to the bed. I'd never made it up onto the mattress.

My knees were the worst part. The pajama pants with the little moons on them had worn through at both knees, and the skin underneath was pink and crusty and stuck to the fabric when I moved. My palms throbbed like they had their own heartbeats.

And I really, really had to pee.

My call button lived in a pouch on the side of my wheelchair. Daddy had clipped it there so I could always reach it.

Through the window, I could see the chair in the garden, sitting in a puddle that had spread out around the wheels overnight.

I knocked on the wall. Soft at first, then harder.

Footsteps. The door opened, and Vanessa stood there in her robe, holding a coffee mug.

"Why are you still on the floor?" She frowned at my pajamas. "You're not even dressed. We're leaving for brunch at ten."

"I need to go to the bathroom," I said. "I don't have my chair, and my bathroom's in Chloe's room now."

"You managed to get to dinner yesterday."

"It hurt." I pulled my pant leg up so she could see. "Look. It's all scraped."

She glanced at my knee and then at the window. "Chloe wants to play with the chair again today. Once she's finished, we'll bring it in."

"It's sitting in water."

"Then it'll need to dry, won't it?"

I didn't mean to cry. It just came out, loud and ugly, all at once.

Daddy's voice came from the hall. "What is all that noise?"

"She's upset about the chair again," Vanessa said.

He leaned in the doorway, tying his tie. He looked at me, at my knees, at the wet spot spreading on the rug under me.

His jaw went tight.

"Then stop making everything so difficult," he said. "I'm not doing this every morning."

They left the door open. I heard Chloe asking if she could have pancakes.

---

I scooted back against the bed and hugged Bramble to my chest. His fur smelled like dust now. It used to smell like Mommy.

I pressed my face into his head and tried not to think about the wet rug.

Then I heard it.

"Ava?"

It came from the front of the house. A woman's voice, high and a little out of breath.

I froze. That was Mommy's voice. Exactly like on the tablet, when she'd say *Hi, bug!* and wave too close to the camera.

I was dreaming. I had to be.

"Ava! Where is she?"

Daddy said something, low and fast. I couldn't hear the words.

Then high heels came down the hallway, quick and hard, getting closer. The door banged open all the way.

A woman stood there in a dark wool coat, rain dripping off her hair, a small black suitcase rolling behind her. Her eyes went straight to me on the floor. Then to my knees. Then to the empty spot by the bed where my chair always lived.

The suitcase handle slipped out of her hand. It tipped over and hit the floorboards with a thud.

"Ava? Baby, why are you on the floor?"

"Mommy?"

She was across the room before I finished saying it. She dropped to her knees right in front of me, careful, like I might break, and wrapped her arms around me and Bramble both.

Her coat was cold and damp against my cheek. But underneath, she smelled like vanilla and rain and her soft yellow sweater.

Like Mommy.

I cried so hard I couldn't breathe. She just held on and rocked me.

"I've got you. I've got you, bug." She pulled back to look at my face, and her thumbs wiped under my eyes. "Where's your wheelchair?"

"Chloe wanted to be a princess."

"What?"

"Daddy says I have to share."

She went very still.

Then she slid one arm under my legs and the other behind my back, and lifted me up off the floor, Bramble and all. She carried me to the window.

Out in the garden, my chair sat in the brown puddle. The cushion was swollen and dark. Half the butterflies had peeled loose, and the blue one was gone completely.

Mommy stared at it for a long time. I felt her fingers, which had been squeezing my side, slowly loosen.

Then she looked down at me.

"Sweetheart, did Daddy make you crawl?"

I nodded against her coat.

Mommy's voice went suddenly, terribly quiet.

"Then Daddy has a lot to answer for."