A/N: Hey, guys. I know this update is ridiculously late, and I sincerely apologize for that. I've been having a personal crisis of sorts this week, on top of some health issues, and today's the first time I've had much of a chance to just relax and breathe. On the plus side, my IRL schedule will be back to normal, so I should be able to post regularly again. This update is short, but I'm going to try to post chapter 42 after I eat some dinner here in a minute. (It will probably be after 7PM, so it might not show up on AO3.)

Chapter 41.

Operation Fix Mommy

. . .

It was the best idea ever. Better than eating Jillian's meals for her when she stayed over; better than teaching Frannie and Gigi how to bark "Jingle Bells" for Christmas (the closest they got was Frannie trying to bite the little bells off the reindeer antlers). It was way better than fishing in the toilet for the alligators Uncle Fin said lived in the sewers. Better even than selling enough lemonade to pay for a family vacation in Australia, where the Irwins lived with all the koalas and the kookaburras.

Jesse loved the Irwins, but she loved her own family more, and this idea was going to help them tremendously, she was sure of it. She had to break a couple rules to make it work, sure, but the end results were going to be so spectacular no one would care how she pulled it off—just that she had found a solution to her mommy's Too Sad feelings. That's what Mama called them, instead of decompression, because the littler kids couldn't understand that word. Mommy was Too Sad to get out of bed, Too Sad to have breakfast, Too Sad to walk Jesse and her siblings to school. The bad guys had made Mommy Too Sad about everything.

She was even too sad to go get her hair fixed. Jesse had overheard her mothers discussing it the day before, when they thought she was asleep. They didn't know she had started sneaking out of bed at night to check that everyone was where they should be. Her little sister Tilly was the easiest, since their beds were only about six feet apart. That, and Tilly kept dragging her blanket and stuffies over to Jesse's bed at night now, asking, "Sissy, I sleep witchoo?" so she wasn't hard to find. There were a couple close calls with Noah, but once he had just been in the bathroom, and the other time he was hiding under his bed. He was pretending to be camping out, he said, but Jesse knew better.

Daphne and the baby were a bit trickier because they slept in Mommy Room. Jesse had to be extra super quiet when she tiptoed in to check on them, otherwise Daphne sat straight up in bed and threw slippers at her. Then her aunt snapped all the lights on and said crazy stuff like, "Jessica Marie, you scared the bejeezus out of me! I thought you were that feral moth girl from Mama. You better maintain your corporeal form and put it right back in bed, lady."

"My name is Jesse Eileen, not Jessica Marie," Jesse had replied that time, never quite sure what to make of Daphne's absurd nicknames. She knew her aunt knew everyone's real names, but she still insisted on calling them made-up things like Jessica Marie and Sammie Faye. Usually it made Jesse laugh, except when it didn't. She hated getting caught, especially during something as important as bed checks. What made them such a vital component of her nighttime routine she couldn't say, only that, if she tried to skip them, she wouldn't be able to fall asleep. The first night her mommies didn't come home she hadn't gone to sleep till way past eleven o'clock.

They were back now, and that meant Jesse had to be about a million times sneakier just to eavesdrop outside their closed bedroom door. She'd had to lie and say she needed a glass of water that first night they returned from the hospital because Frannie heard her tiptoeing down the hallway and growled. It had scared Jesse a little when her mama jerked the door open, her face pale like Jack Skellington's, and looked mad to find her out of bed. "You're big enough to get your own water, Jess," Mama had sighed. "Don't make a mess, y'hear? And go back to bed when you're done—no horsing around."

That had hurt Jesse's feelings a bit. Of course she was big enough to get herself a bedtime drink, she did it all the time and helped Tilly get hers too. But the implications that she was messy and didn't stay on task were rather offensive. She was six years old, not a baby like Sammie! At least, before the door closed again, Jesse had spotted Mommy, or what looked like a Mommy-shaped ball huddled under the covers, and Samantha, asleep in the bassinet. That alleviated most of her fears that night. Everybody safe and sound. Snug as a bug in a rug.

But the next night she had to rely on her ears instead of her eyes. It was her only option, with the door shut tight and a thin line of light slashed across the bottom, her mothers' voices low and muffled on the other side. Something about those voices made Jesse sad, as if her mommies were way far away—even though they were right where they were supposed to be (and if they were in there, then so was Sammie)—and she'd almost knocked and asked for another glass of water. She didn't want to get scolded again, and neither Frannie nor Gigi had barked, so she forced her fist back down to her side and listened.

That's when she overheard them talking about Mommy's hair. They sounded stuffy, like they were crying or had been very recently.

"It'll grow back, darlin', you'll see. You always complain about how often it needs trimmed, I bet it will be long again in no time. Until then, well, you're just as pretty with short hair as you were last time it was about this length."

"That was different. I hacked it off on purpose then because I couldn't stand . . . There were too many bad memories in it. He was in it. I had no choice in this. I can't even— I can't even look at myself in the mirror like this. I'm not sure I even want it to be long again. I know you love it that way, but it's too— I'm too . . . "

"Hey, hey. Shh. I love your hair no matter what length it is. 'Cause it's a part of you, and I love you. So much. Come here, darlin', shh. You're more than just your hair." Mama had repeated that several times, her voice going in and out, too quiet to hear and then clear enough to make out every word, as if she were moving around the room or occasionally talking into a pillow. After a while she stopped moving and said the next part like she was taking a big breath, "You think you might feel better if you went and got it evened out? Maybe styled a little? Something that doesn't remind you of . . . that place every time you see it?"

"I don't know."

"'Cause Daphne left her stylist's card, and I could call and set up an appointment for you. Might, uh, might be a good first step toward getting back out there, you know? Something kinda easy, not as stressful as the dentist. Or work, or whatever."

"I can't go to the dentist right now, I told you that. It's too much, Amanda. I cannot sit there with my mouth open while some man puts his hands— No. I can't. I won't."

Her mommy's fear of the dentist was a revelation to Jesse, who hadn't stopped to consider that either of her mommies were afraid of anything up until that moment. Mama liked to tease Mommy for her jumpiness around birds (the sound Mommy made whenever a pigeon got too close was very funny, and the way she flapped her arms around like she was a bird herself, attempting to fly), and sometimes Mommy got the devil in her eye and made silly voices behind the heads of Tilly's dolls, so it sounded as if the doll was talking.

But those were funny things to be afraid of, the way Frannie cracked everyone up when she ran away from butterflies at the park. Jesse's mommies did not think being scared of the dentist was funny—she could tell by the strain in their voices. It struck a false chord in her ear, so that even though she wasn't able to name it, she recognized it at once. If only she could go in and tell her mommy that it was okay to be afraid of the dentist's office; Jesse wasn't, but she knew lots of kids who were, especially her best friend Jillian. Eavesdropping was really hard when you couldn't intervene.

"Okay, baby, shh. I'm not gonna force you to go to the dentist. Aw, Liv, please don't cry. As long as that tooth isn't hurting you none, I promise I won't hound you about it. I just don't want you to be in any more pain than you already are. Figured starting out small would take some of the pressure off, then you could build up to bigger things from there. The stylist's a woman, and I can stay with you while she works, make sure you're comfortable and safe . . . "

For a long time it got so quiet that Jesse thought they had gone to sleep—they dozed off a lot during family movie night and Sunday cuddles on the couch because, according to Mama, that's what happened when you were old and had a job and fifty kids—but Mommy must have been thinking of an answer, or been unable to give it. She was waterlogged and weary when she spoke again. Jesse felt like her own pajamas were soggy and dragging her down just listening in; she got the distinct impression that if someone squeezed her, all the feelings—the sadness, curiosity, guilt and anger—would run out of her like water from a sponge. Maybe everything else too.

"I've only been home for two days. Please don't say you expect me to just bounce right back from this. I barely made it through the other times. L-Lewis. I . . . that took me months. I couldn't even sleep with the light off. I don't— I don't know what I can handle right now, Amanda. I feel like I'm slowly being crushed, a little more weight added every few seconds. Every time someone calls to ask how I am or when one of the dogs bark or I think about th-those men. Their hands." Mommy had started to gasp for breath, making it difficult to understand everything she was saying. But Jesse got the gist. "More weight . . . I'm done . . . Please don't . . . "

Her mommy was saying the bad had gotten too big to be carried, just like Jesse herself. Both mommies still hefted her up onto their hips if she asked sweetly enough, if they were crossing the street in a hurry, or when they told her she'd been sleepwalking and put her back to bed, but it never lasted very long and they always moaned and groaned like they were lifting a baby elephant. They didn't do that with Samantha or Matilda, and Jesse got the message loud and clear: she had outgrown the shelter of her mothers' arms.

She didn't mind. It made her feel grown up and independent not having to be carted around and babied the way her younger sisters were. A girl who would be going into second grade in a few months had no business even wanting to be carried if you asked her, although she wasn't against lap-sitting or dozing off with an ear to a chest, Mama's jackrabbit heartbeat or Mommy's slower, steadier one lulling her to sleep. Nothing in the world felt safer than that. But the bad getting too big for Mommy to carry scared Jesse a little. That meant there were things her mother couldn't handle, couldn't fix, and those notions were radical, almost blasphemous in her six-year-old mind.

Jesse wanted to offer to take up some of the load. She was still fairly small, despite being one of the tallest girls in her class, but she was tough. Miss Plummer said so, and the gym teacher was as brawny and bulging as a man, a comparison that hadn't gone unnoticed by the older children, who called her Mister Plummer behind her back. She played all the sports, claimed the big kids, and lifted barbells that weighed as much as a car. If anybody knew about physical strength, it was Miss Plummer. And she thought Jesse was tough, so it must be true.

But how did Jesse convince her mommies to let her shoulder their too-big burden? (The men's hands? Lewis? What had they done to make Mommy so afraid? Was it the rape thing Noah talked about, grape without the G?) Punishment for snooping was a lot steeper than for minor offenses, like forgetting to pick up toys or calling her brother a stink-butt boy. She would probably have to clean her room for the whole summer if she let on what she had learned during the private conversation. Getting into trouble didn't faze her too much, but she wasn't crazy either.

"I'm sorry, darlin', I shouldn't've brought it up. It's too soon, you're right." Even through the door and without seeing Mama's face, Jesse could tell there was a but. When she sounded like that, Mommy always raised her eyebrows and asked real long and funny: Buuut? This time Mommy didn't play along or tease, though. She didn't say anything at all. "Just . . . I know how hard it is to get back in the swing of things. The longer you put it off, the harder it gets. And . . . babe, you ain't even showered since you got home. You've hardly left this bed. I'm worried for you is all. I'm just so goddamn worried."

Mama began to cry then too. Outside the door, biting her lip and squeezing her fists into tight little rocks she wanted to hurl at the bad men (one of them had a name now: Lewis!), Jesse forced herself not to. Her mommies said it was okay to cry, you didn't have to feel embarrassed or ashamed when it happened. It didn't mean you were weak or silly, and it wasn't something only girls did. But hidden there in the dark hallway, too heavy to be picked up and hearing things she shouldn't, she refused to give in. It was the first step in being tough for her mommies.

"It's not a horse I can just." Mommy did something light and halfhearted with her hands that bounced her voice. She wasn't angry, not quite. Blue. That was one of the vocabulary words Jesse had learned this year, and it wasn't like the color. It meant really sad, which her mommy definitely was—her mommy's sound was the bluest blue. "I know you're worried. I'm sorry. I'll . . . I'll try to take a shower or something. Tomorrow. Maybe I'll feel more up to a haircut after that."

"Okay, darlin'. We won't rush it. Maybe a bath instead of a shower, so you can sit?"

"I can't. The doctor said two weeks after the surgery."

"Oh shit, that's right. Goddammit, I'm sorry. Oh, Liv."

The conversation dwindled to heavy sighs and sniffling then, no distinguishing between whose breath was whose as they coasted on the edge of sleep, and Jesse had stolen back to her bed on swift sock feet. There she contemplated what she had heard and what it all might mean. She was aware of the gaps in what she knew, but not how to fill them. It was while she mulled over her mommy's fear of the stylist and the dentist that her idea struck. The one that pretty much certified her as an actual genius. She had almost gone to get what she needed right then, she was so excited, but the kitchen drawer was too noisy to mess around in without alerting someone to her search.

Tomorrow, like Mommy said.

Jesse had drifted off to sleep with the promise in her ears and all the unabashed hope of a six-year-old in her heart.

. . .

By the next morning the idea had expanded to include her siblings. As luck would have it it was the weekend—three whole days off because Monday was Memorial Day!—and she had plenty of time to convince them. Tilly would be easy-peasy since she already went along with whatever Jesse wanted anyway; Noah might be a bit more difficult, though. Sometimes he wanted to be a big boy and said Jesse's ideas were little kid stuff. Other times he joined in and made it lots more fun, like when he helped her get ingredients off the high shelves to cook breakfast for their mommies on Mother's Day. She would need his help with the baby for this project, so maybe that would grab his interest. He liked doing things she couldn't.

The only snag in her plans that she could foresee was if Mommies were around and got curious what she and the others were up to—they always did when "y'all are being way too quiet in here"—but even that worked out perfectly. After lunch, which Mommy didn't come out of the bedroom to eat, Mama put Sammie down for a nap in the living room and asked Noah and Jesse to watch their sisters while she talked to Mommy about something. Mommies' talks lasted for a long, long time now, so Jesse knew that was her chance. She almost had a heart attack when she was sneaking back into the living room from the kitchen and heard her mothers' bedroom door open.

They hadn't noticed her peeking around the corner of the hallway; instead, they drifted into the bathroom together, Mama's hand low on Mommy's back like she was walking her into school, and closed the door behind them. Jesse knew she was home free when the shower hissed to life. Their showers were even longer than their talks, and that had been the case way before Mommy got hurt and had to move like Jesse's favorite animal after Frannie and Gigi: the sloth.

If they had glanced down the hallway a moment later, they would have seen a Jesse-colored streak whizzing by, a glint of silver going snicker-snack in one hand. There might not be a real jabberwock around for her to slay, but she still believed she was on an urgent mission to battle back the scary monsters—the ones that lived in Mommy's head. She and Mama tried to hide them from Jesse, but Jesse knew they were there, just like when she knew there were monsters in her closet and under the bed. Her mommies always ran them off for her, now it was her turn to repay the favor.

"I don't know," Noah said, dodging side to side, his shoulders up by his ears as she circled him. Just as she suspected, he had agreed to participate when she sold him the idea as a joint effort she couldn't pull off by herself. But now that he was involved, he kept trying to get out of it. She had even gone first to prove there was nothing to it, and still he didn't seem to trust her. Didn't see the brilliance of Operation Fix Mommy.

Boys were such dum-dums. Scaredy-cats too. Noah might be older because of when he was born, but sometimes Jesse felt years ahead of him. The only thing he was better at was dancing; her mama said she had in-hair-ited Mommy's two left feet, whatever that meant. Personally, Jesse didn't think she was half bad.

"Maybe we shouldn't. They might be mad. We could ask them first and make sure it's okay? Let's wait until they're done in the bathroom, then we can ask Ma. She pro'ly won't care, she always says we need it anyway." Noah turned quickly, as if Jesse might spring on him from behind and go to town, giving her a hopeful look. "Come on, Jesse. We're supposed to be good right now so Mommy— so Mom doesn't get upset, remember?"

Jesse scoffed, even though she really didn't want to upset their mommy. That was the exact opposite reason why they needed to do this! Her brother just didn't get it, and that was disappointing. Once again she would have to explain to him why they should do things her way. "We can't ask Mama, that'd ruin the surprise. And Mommy won't get upset, 'cause we are being good. We're showing her how to be brave again. But . . . "

She drew it out for dramatic effect the way their mama did when she dangled a tempting offer—takeout for dinner, an extra hour at bedtime, fifteen more minutes on the swings—in front of them, knowing they wouldn't refuse. "If you don't wanna help Mommy, it can just be me and Tilly." (After some debate, they had decided not to include Samantha, who might wake up and give them away if she started howling. Lord that baby could howl.) "We're big girls and we don't need you. 'Sides, if you're too scared, it'll mess everything up anyway. Right, Tilly?"

The little girl looked back and forth between Jesse and Noah like they were playing tug-of-war. She tended to side with whoever tagged her first, and sometimes she was too cute and sweet for either of them to fight over—they hated, hated to make her cry—so they ended up calling a truce. Jesse was determined not to let that happen this time, though, and she breathed a sigh of relief when Tilly took a step toward her, bobbing the pretty red curls their mommies loved so much.

"Uh-huh. I a big girl. I be like you, sissy." Tilly played with a long lock of pale hair, twirling it around her finger as if it were her own.

It made Jesse feel a little bit guilty to trick her younger sister, whom she adored, and her big bubby for that matter, but not much. Once she got them on board, they would see how right she had been and they'd be glad they took her advice. She was just giving them that extra push kids often needed when they weren't as in-courage-ible as she was. That's what her mommies called her sometimes, and she had decided it meant really, really brave. Twice as much courage as the average first-grader. Incredible courage. In-courage-ible.

Poor Noah only had the regular amount of courage for a third-grade boy, and he hesitated right up until Jesse boosted Tilly onto the coffee table and began circling around her instead of him. "All right, I'll do it," he said, standing up from his cross-legged seat on the floor. He sighed and waved for Tilly to scootch over so he could plop down beside her on the heavy wooden table, which was short to him but not to her. Her little legs hung over the side, bare feet bouncing like they were splashing in a kiddie pool below. She was always excited to be included in her older siblings' enterprises.

"I'll go before Tilly since I'm older. You watch and make sure you want to do it." Noah pointed out to Tilly where he wanted her attention and she obliged him, gazing up with the rapt face of Frannie waiting for popcorn to tumble out of the kids' bowl on movie night. (Lots of times they dropped pieces on purpose, just to see the dog scrambling to gobble them up before Mommies said no. She looked like one of the hippo puppets from Hungry Hungry Hippos trying to eat all the marbles.) "If it's too scary, you can say no, okay?"

Ugh, Jesse thought, wishing the boy had a lever she could use to snap his mouth shut like in the game. He was going to jinx it and make Tilly change her mind about taking her turn next! Before that could happen—before either of her siblings could ruin the ingenious plot she had painstakingly put together and whose execution she was positive, absolutely positive, would fix all her mommies' too-big bad stuff—Jesse separated the blades and snipped.

. . .