Chapter 5 - When Jenna Tried to Help
The next morning the apartment was quiet in a different way. Not the tight quiet from the night before, when I'd held the silver frame to my chest and said Mommy said it so she can still see me. This was the quiet of my dad making coffee and trying not to clink the mug against the counter.
I sat at the small table in our living area with my photo in my lap. The frame was cold against my off-white dress. My dad was at the sink in his navy sweater and gray pants, his silver watch catching the light when he moved. Jenna stood near the couch in her cream sweater and beige trousers, her brown belt cinched at her waist. She wasn't in the bedroom doorway anymore. She was just in our apartment, and I didn't know where she was supposed to stand.
She knelt down a little so she wasn't towering over the table. She didn't reach for me.
"Hey, Sofia," she said. Her voice was softer than the night before. "I'm Jenna. You can call me Jenna, okay? Not anything else unless you want to. Just Jenna."
I looked at her and then down at the frame. I didn't answer. I breathed in and held the frame tighter.
My dad came over and set a bowl of Cheerios down for me with milk already poured. He had his wedding band on. I watched him stir his coffee and glance at Jenna like he wasn't sure if he should help her or let her keep talking.
"I was thinking," Jenna said, "if you want, I could brush your hair before daycare. Or read you a story. Jenna can do that stuff. I don't have to be... I just want to help."
She said it carefully, like she was picking each word up before she set it down. I remembered the night before when she'd said Sophia, bed, now, and how firm she'd sounded. Now she sounded like she was trying to make her voice smaller.
I had a knot in my hair from sleeping. Mom used to brush it with the cream bow still in, gentle around the bow so it didn't pull. I shook my head.
"No," I said. It came out quiet.
Jenna nodded. "Okay. No is fine."
She didn't move away right away. She stayed kneeling there for a second, her hands resting on her knees. My dad watched us and took a slow breath.
Later, my dad said we had time before we had to leave and asked if I wanted to put the photo back in my bedroom so it wouldn't get lost at daycare. I carried it back to the white bookcase. The teddy bears were lined up just like always, the bunny with the blue ears tipped forward a little. The dark wood floor creaked under my socks. I set the frame on the little shelf where I could see it from my bed, angled it just right so Mom could see the whole room.
Jenna followed us to the doorway. She didn't come all the way in.
"Do you want me to fix her blanket?" she asked my dad, but she was looking at me. "The bear blanket on the bed's all bunched up."
My dad said, "That's Sofia's call."
I was on my knees next to the bookcase, adjusting the frame with both hands. The silver edge was smudged from where I'd held it. Jenna took one step into the room and crouched down near me, not too close.
"I can hold it steady while you fix the bow?" she offered. She reached her hand out, palm up, toward the base of the frame to keep it from tipping. She wasn't trying to take it. She was trying to help hold it.
I pulled the frame back against my chest. Fast. My elbows tucked in and my shoulders came up. I didn't mean to bump her hand but my arm brushed her fingers as I moved.
Her hand stopped in the air where the frame had been. She pulled it back right away and set it back on her knee.
"Sorry," she said. "I shouldn't have reached."
My chest was beating hard. I held the frame so tight the silver edge pressed into my palms.
My dad knelt down on the other side of me. His gray pants brushed the floor. He didn't scold me. He didn't tell me to say sorry. He just put his hand lightly on the edge of the bookcase so I had space.
"Hey, kiddo," he said, quiet. "That photo is yours. No one takes it. Jenna wasn't trying to take it. She was trying to steady it, but it's yours to hold."
I nodded, but I didn't let go.
He looked at Jenna then. "She's not Mom," he said to me, but loud enough for Jenna to hear too. "Jenna's not Mom. Jenna is Jenna. She lives here and she helps with stuff like breakfast and picking you up, but she doesn't replace Mom. Mom's still Mom."
Jenna swallowed. Her eyes got a little shiny but she blinked and kept her face calm.
"That's right," she said to me. "I'm not your mommy. I would never try to be. Your mom is your mom. That picture is how you and her talk, and I don't need to touch it."
I loosened my grip just a little, just enough that my fingers weren't white anymore. I turned the frame back toward the bookcase and set it down again, facing out. I made sure it was steady myself this time.
Jenna stood up slowly and went back to the doorway. She didn't come closer.
"Do you want to leave it there while you're at daycare?" my dad asked. "She'll still be able to see you tonight when you get home."
I thought about it. I slid the frame an inch to the left so it wasn't in the sun from the window. "She sees better here," I whispered to him.
He nodded. "Okay. Right there then."
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When we left the bedroom, Jenna stayed a step behind us. She didn't try to hold my hand in the hallway. At the front door, she picked up my little backpack and held it open while I slipped my arms in, careful not to brush the bow in my hair. I let her do that. It felt different from the photo. A backpack wasn't Mom's.
We stood there for a second, the three of us in the small living area, and nobody tried to make it something it wasn't.
