Hate is a Four-Letter Word

"I hate you!" Poppy's angry declaration echoed through the now-silent house. Beca's expression smoothed into her very best resting-bitch-face. Chloe saw it exactly for what it was – a desperate attempt not to cry.

Chloe turned to look stormily at her daughter and spoke sternly. "Poppy Alexandra, you do not speak to your mother that way. Go to your room."

"Mom," she whined.

"Go!" Poppy rolled her eyes and stomped towards and up the stairs. Chloe ignored her, not deigning to give her the attention she wanted. Instead, the redhead turned back to the tableau the rest of the family had created in the living room. Beca was sitting motionless and silent on the edge of an armchair. Bella was hiding behind the sofa, out of view. Vera curled up on the floor against Beca's chair, clearly wanting to comfort her mother but no knowing yet if it was welcome.

Chloe took immediate control of the tense and frozen situation. She knelt next to Bella and hugged the sensitive child. "Sweetie, it's okay," she said, softly. "Someone just woke up on the wrong side of the bed. Can you do me a favor – go get ready for the park – and help Vera do the same. Okay?" Bella nodded and pulled away from Chloe – moving to take Vera's hand. They disappeared together and Chloe moved to kneel in front of Beca.

"Beca?" There was no response. Chloe reached up to redirect her face so their eyes met. "Honey, she didn't mean that. It was an angry response – a temper tantrum. She didn't mean it – and you know that." Beca nodded numbly. She shook her head, wiping away tears that finally started falling.

"I just never – " She took a deep breath. "Wow. That hit me harder than it probably should have. I know," she said with a nod. "I know she's just angry." She wiped away more tears. Chloe reached up and brushed away a few more.

"It's going to be okay. She just needs time to cool down. I'm going to get the girls ready for the day – why don't you go upstairs – splash some cold water on your face – and lay down for a few minutes? I'll let you know when they're ready." Beca nodded.

Thirty minutes later, her sunglasses hid the last vestiges of crying as she loaded two of her daughters into the car and drove to one of the larger parks nearby. This one had dozens of playgrounds, walking trails, and was oceanside. She played happy music on the drive, but all three were still slightly shaken from that morning's uncharacteristic outburst. Finally, Beca knew she had to break up the tension. "What do you girls want to do at the park?" She asked, glancing at them for a moment in the review mirror.

"Jungle gym!" Vera said confidently.

"Can we walk on the beach?" Bella asked.

"We sure can," Beca told her. "Did Mommy put sunscreen on you already?"

"Yep!" Vera assured her. Bella simply nodded. She wasn't a loud child to begin with. She was quieter without her twin beside her. They arrived in the parking lot and Beca helped them out of their seats. She shouldered the tote bag that held their supplies for the day and picked up the cooler that held their lunches from the back of the car.

Stacie stood waiting at the entrance to the park, sunglasses covering her blue eyes. She stooped to the ground and – as soon as Beca gave them the go-ahead – both girls ran to hug her. She swung them around, sundress skirts twirling colorfully in the breeze. "What are you doing here?" Beca asked, knowing the answer full well.

"I thought it was a beautiful day for the park – and your lovely wife told me you had more than enough picnic lunch to share."

Beca smiled softly; of course, Chloe would find someone to console her and keep her company while the girls played. They found a spot under a shady tree to lay out blankets. Then they walked to the closest play area and let the girls loose. They sat on the grass where they could observe.

"You hanging in there?" Stacie asked, eyes focused on the girls but occasionally glancing at her friend.

Beca nodded. "It was hard to hear – but I know that she didn't mean it. It's fine."

"You're not fine," her friend challenged. Beca pursed her lips before eventually responding.

"When I was younger, I told my mother I hated her. Several times. And I meant it. Every time."

"Totally different situation," Stacie said, shaking her head. "You are a good mom. A great mom, Your mom, on the other hand, was a manipulative bitch who constantly played games with your head. She deserved every one of them, I'm sure."

"What if she meant it?"

Stacie turned to look at her directly. "Seriously, Becs. She's seven. Do you think that really is possible?"

She shrugged, staring down at the grass and beginning to pull at it. "I don't know," she answered quietly. "She doesn't like me the way she likes Chloe."

"They understand one another better. It doesn't mean she loves – or likes - you any less."

Beca sighed. "I try not to question it. But sometimes, you know – "

"Oh, I'm well acquainted with the evil bitch-voices inside your head. If you wouldn't say it to me, you're not allowed to say it to yourself, Mitchell. Your kids love you more than anything – and you know that, even on the bad days. Stop doubting yourself." She pulled Beca into a hug that the smaller woman fought and then begrudgingly accepted, falling to rest her head on Stacey's shoulder.

"Why is this so hard?" She asked, almost in a whisper.

"Everything worth it is, Cap. You know that," her friend responded softly. "Embrace the joy when you have it." She pointed to where Vera and Bella were giggling, traipsing up and down different ladders and ropes to slide back down again. Beca smiled and sat up, nodding.

After they were tired of sliding and then being pushed on swings, the two little girls sat down to have lunch with their mom and aunt, after which they took a long walk along the beach, collecting anything Beca didn't warn them not to pick up. They had a lovely afternoon, and promptly fell asleep on the drive home.

Dinner was pizza – and then Chloe suggested a movie night. The girls, exhausted from spending most of the day in the sun (or in Poppy's case, crying and being generally miserable) – agreed. Chloe set them up with blankets, popcorn, and Disney movies while Beca went to her studio and buried herself in work.

Two hours after she'd sat down, she stood to stretch and jumped when she realized that Poppy was standing in the doorway. "Hi, Love," Beca said calmly, despite her now-racing heart. "When did you get here?"

"I didn't want to interrupt," she said, tentatively.

"The red light's not on," Beca said, motioning to the red light that indicated when she was actively recording. Otherwise, they were permitted to interrupt.

Tears pricked the young girl's eyes and she sniffled. She looked up at Beca, her eyes glimmering with more unshed tears. "Mama, I'm really sorry." She started sobbing then, and Beca knelt to her level and offered her arms. They hugged for a few minutes until Beca stood and led Poppy from her studio and down to the child's bedroom. Snuggled on the sofa in the corner of the room, Beca continued to hold her.

"You don't have to say you're sorry anymore," Beca told her, after the third or fourth time. "I know you are. And I know you didn't mean it. I forgive you. And I love you. Always." She kissed Poppy's forehead and frowned. "Do you not feel good, love?" Poppy shook her head and Beca carried her to the master bathroom where she took her temperature and found it to be 101.2F.

In the next three days, all five of them had some version of whatever virus had invaded their home – and the drama over Poppy's outburst was mostly forget. Except by Beca, who might have scheduled a few extra therapy sessions to deal with it, and Poppy – who as a grown woman was still occasionally haunted by the memory of that look in her mama's eyes when she'd declared, as an unthinking and brash seven-year-old, that she hated her. Luckily, they had many, many years to clear up the thoughtless words of an angry child.