Three Years Old

Chapter Two

So who else is addicted to Taylor Swift's new song? (linked on the side) I am NOT a Taylor Swift fan normally, or ever really, but I cannot stop singing this song! Anyways, just wanted to share that...

This one's dedicated to writingyearsaway for being a keen commenter, which is something we all know I love.

Happy reading!

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     We reached my mother’s house, alone on its country lane, in ten minutes. It didn’t look that much bigger than our new house, but it actually was by quite a bit. We all stopped as one in front of the door and Blake looked at me expectantly. It was my call whether we just walked in or we rang the doorbell. Flick was oblivious, having taken our pause as an opportunity to observe a caterpillar climbing slowly up a wide leaf protruding from the bush bordering the drive.

      I stretched out my hand and rang the doorbell, even though I knew she was in, it was open and that she wouldn’t mind us just entering unannounced. It felt like something I should do, seeing as up until half an hour ago we hadn’t been in St. David’s. Like we had to announce ourselves formally as being in the city, before we could go back to our old habits of coming and going as we pleased.

     A grin burst onto my mum’s face when the door swung backwards and she spotted me, Blake and Flick on her doorstep. She let out a small squeal of joy, and pulled Blake into a hug. After squeezing her tightly for a few seconds it was my turn. She held me for just a little bit longer, and I hugged back, enjoying the familiar smell. Once we were done she bent down to scoop up her granddaughter.

      ‘How’s my Felicity?’ she cooed, her voice changing pitch to adopt the generic baby voice that was so common with adults faced with Flick’s cuteness. Flick wrapped her arms around Dee’s neck, as she moved into the hallway so we could enter the house.  Flick gave her the sort of awkward hug only kids know how to give, then lent back and stared. I could tell from the look on her face that she didn’t know what to say.

     This was a frequent occurrence for Flick – being stumped for words. She was unsure how to respond and converse with most adults, and at first Blake had convinced herself that this must be an early sign of Asperger’s Syndrome. It had taken quite a bit of Internet research on my part and even a visit to a specialist to prove to her that this wasn’t the case. To me it had always been perfectly clear that it was the adults that were the problem, and not Flick.

     When adults talked to children they never said anything, and Flick, being unusually intelligent for her age, found this difficult. How are you supposed to respond to someone who’s not saying anything? When my mother asked, “How’s my Felicity?” Flick didn’t know what to say. She was three, and “Good,” was not yet a viable option (and obviously not the answer Dee was looking for), so she just didn’t say anything.

     ‘She’s great,’ Blake jumped in for her. ‘We’re all good. We have no furniture yet, but we’re good.’

     ‘Well you know you’re welcome to stick around here for as long as you need,’ my mum told us, putting Flick back on the ground. The second her feet hit the floor, in their miniature shoes, she was off. She ran into the sitting room and pulled herself up onto the sofa, as if it was an impossibly high ridge that required full body strength to climb – which for her, it did. Once up she lent back into the plump cushions, almost disappearing as she fell into the gaps. As we watched this scene through the open doorway joining the hall and the living room, Blake let out a little laugh.

     ‘Right,’ my mum announced once we’d all finished watching Flick. ‘I’m going to get you something to eat.’

     She spun on her heel to bustle off in the direction of the kitchen before we could protest, so I called after her, ‘Nothing too big Mum, we had lunch on the way!’ She didn’t respond or make any noise, having already disappeared into her cooking lair.