Anya Delachene
December 16, 2020 6:39 PM
What just happened? by Anya Delachene
"I'm going out flying," Anya announced to the house at large, because she got in trouble if she didn't tell people she was going outside and nobody knew where to look for her."Where?" Dad's voice asked, probably from the living room. "And on what?"
"Face Rock, on my broom," she answered, referencing one of the more notable landmarks on their property.
"If you want to take Flynn out instead, I can come with you." At first, Anya assumed the female voice was Jasmine's. Jasmine, after all, was the only female in the house likely to volunteer to go flying with her, and Jasmine didn't like brooms, either for riding on herself or for watching Anya ride them. Her voice wasn't quite right though.
Anya didn't think much about that. They had been separated for months. Either she was remembering Jasmine's voice wrong, or maybe it had changed a little in the time they were apart. Guys' voices changed as they grew up, maybe girls' did too, just not as dramatically and all at once. She was sure she didn't sound like she used to when she was tiny, after all. "Yeah, sure," she agreed. Flynn was one of her favorites of the horses; a young stallion who was a bit more feisty and high spirited than most of the other horses they kept on the ranch. Jasmine had already expressed a dislike for riding him because he didn't like slowing down when she told him to. That wasn't a problem Anya was too concerned about. "I'll meet you out at the barn!" she promised and headed out to get him saddled up.
She was just about done cinching the belly strap of her saddle when she heard the door open. She poked her head out of Flynn's stall, but the "hi!" on her tongue died without being voiced when she saw her mom levitating her saddle over onto Rapunzel.
The voice hadn't sounded like Jasmine's because it wasn't Jasmine's.
"You're really gonna ride with me?" she blurted out. "I thought you hated riding with me."
Mom sighed, and busied herself with her saddle straps. "Anastasia," she began, with a glance toward her daughter. Anya frowned, and braced herself for an argument. "Anya," she corrected herself with another sigh, then looked down at the straps again. "I'm sorry."
Anya frowned deeper and crossed her arms. Her mom never apologized. Was this a new tactic to get Anya to do things the way her mom wanted her to do them rather than her own way? "For what?"
"For making you think I hate riding with you."
"You do hate riding with me," Anya pointed out with the certainty of fact.
"No," Mom disagreed, cinching one of the straps a bit more fiercely than entirely necessary. "I hate the idea of my little girl getting hurt."
"I'm not a little girl anymore," Anya threw back at her. "I'm almost fifteen."
"I know." The two words were quiet, sad, and a little defeated. Anya's frown changed to one of confusion instead of anger. She didn't know what to say to that. Mom didn't agree with her any more than she ever apologized. If this was a new tactic, it was a very strange one. Had she recently read a parenting book about reverse psychology was giving it a go?
"Your father suggested I talk to a family councilor."
Anya looked worried. "You're not getting a divorce are you?"
Mom looked at her, startled. "What? No! No, not about me and Dad. About me and you."
Anya blinked. "Oh."
"I'd like you to come with me tomorrow."
"To the family councilor."
"Yes."
"To fix," Anya gestured between them, ". . . us?"
"To start that process, yes."
"Oh."
"Would you want to try that?"
Anya turned from her mom to Flynn, to check the saddle she had already checked. But she didn't want Mom to see that she was blinking back tears. She nodded. "Yeah. I want to try that."
"Good. Let's give Flynn a good fly. He doesn't get out enough when you're at school. You fly him better than anyone."
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Anya Delachene
What just happened?
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