Tuesday is a hard day. Everywhere we go she runs away from me. Even when we go to walk the on the beach she runs away. Up the hill, fast enough that it is hard to catch her. When I do she says no and hits my hand away. Runs again when I get her to the car.
We drive into the village to pick Sam up. He is with a friend. My mother comes with me, out of the car. When she sees the kids and the other mother she says no again and makes her way over the rocks to a corner of the yard. She scutters around until she finds a way out. When I try to get her into the car she swings at me and runs away, down toward the road. I try to turn her around without touching her. I back her up to the car. She starts to run again and I grab her, hug her around her arms. She swings at me. Hits my forearms and anything else she can reach. She yells at me, calls me Fat Face. The other mother doesn't know what to do. She gets Sam into the car as I hold my mother.
We are near the car. I hold her, move her over, until she is at the front seat. When I tell her this is the way to get away she concedes and gets into the car. I buckle her in, close the door. Before I can get in the driver's seat she is out again. This continues. Five times I have to get her in the car. The other mother holds the door shut until I get in. I drive away.
I don't talk. Sam doesn't talk. My mother doesn't make a sound. As we leave the village she tries to open the car door. I say no, she stops. She keeps trying as we drive home. As we wait at the last set of lights she tries once more. I have to lean over to stop her.
Now when I show up she says "No, not you." She sees me and runs out the door. If I talk she scrunches up her nose and says "Aren't you sweet?" She calls me You or Fat Face. I sit around the corner, trying not to talk, listening to make sure she is safe. When she goes for the door I stop her. I try not to let her see me. Not to look at her. She stares at me with the hate mothers reserve for their daughters. I try not to talk.