Why Are Popsicles So Melty?

I flex my fingers, tightening my grip on the thin slab of wood in my hand then loosening it. The bright red liquid drips quietly through my fingers before falling to the carpet under my feet. I track it with my eyes, scrunching my nose when it hits, wishing I could hear it. The light crimson soaks into the grey fibers, bleeding into a bigger spot than I had thought it could. Another drop joins it, making the stain ever larger. 

Two feet, shiny dress shoes, step into my line of sight. I raise my eyes, taking in the freshly pressed looking dark slacks. The tailored look of his jacket and the stark difference between his white shirt and the black fabric of his jacket. His arms are crossed, his stance showing his agitation. Our eyes meet as another drop falls to the floor. This time, he follows it with his gaze while mine stays on his face. Why are his eyebrows so thick? 

He sighs, dropping his crossed arms. He raises one of his hands, running his fingers through his hair before scratching at the back of his head. He sighs again, exasperation written on his face as two more drops smudge into the carpet. He looks me in the eye, his honey brown clashing with my own dark chocolate orbs. He snaps his fingers, the ones on the hand with the cheap but sparkly watch. A smile tugs my lips. I got him that watch. 

He turns and leaves, snapping again. I pout but follow him into the kitchen, where the pretty carpet turns into clean, maroon looking laminate. I look up, watching him turn on the sink. He glances at me with a smile while he feels the water, making sure it’s the right temperature. I lick my melting popsicle, my sticky face pulling a grin. He chuckles and picks me up, pushing me into the counter so I can reach the water. He takes away the discolored popsicle stick and tosses it. It bounces on the rim of the trash can before falling and tinking on the floor. I giggle and reach for the soap when he pouts at the wooden stick. 

I squish the soap in my pale hands. I got my pale complexion from my mama. I got my dark eyes from her too. And my dark, thin lips with a really sharp cupid’s bow. That’s what my Auntie Rose says. She’s my mama’s sister. 

I got my blond hair from my dad. Along with my nose, freckles, eyebrows and eyelashes. That’s what my grandpa James says. I think I got the mole on my collar bone from my dad’s side. My uncle Ken, dad’s younger brother, has one like it. No one else thinks so. But that’s only because my aunt Chrissy, my mom’s older sister, has a couple on her arms. She also has one on her nose, but we’re not allowed to bring it up. She’s shy about it, I guess. 

I sort of wish mom’s side of the family visited more, but they live in California. I also heard aunt Chrissy say they don’t like my dad. I told her she was rude, but nanna told me children should be seen and not heard so I guess I don’t like them either. They’re mean. 

“Good girl,” He pets my hair, unintentionally knocking me out of my thoughts. I smile scrubbing my little hands together so the blop of soap froths in my grip. 

“Dad,” I start, running my hands under the water to rinse off the suds, “Why are popsicles so melty?” I ask, still rubbing my hands under the water.

I look up at him, raising a brow like I’d seen him do lots of times before. He shrugs looking a little confused. “Because popsicles are just frozen juice, sweetheart.” I nod. That does make sense. 

I look out the window over the sink. The zucchini’s still haven’t started giving vegetables. The tomatoes are looking promising, there have been many blooms and even a couple little green balls that will be tomatoes with time. The peas look a little sad, they won’t even hold onto the spiral things we had to plant them around so that they grew upward. I sigh, my eyes starting to sting a bit while my chin quivers. 

“Do you ever miss mama?” I ask slowly. His hand tightens a fraction and his eyes go to the garden. Her garden. Mama had a thumb so green, dad would offer to color it for her. His eyes get a little misty. He nods stiffly, his hand loosening on my side. He lifts me up higher, pulling me close and resting me on his hip. 

“I do. I miss mama very, very much, Sofie, I miss her with every beat of my heart, every breath I take. I loved her.” He mutters into my hair. I grab his shoulders, patting him. 

“I bet she misses us.” He looks at me, glances at the garden then back at me. “I bet she thinks we’re great, even when we’re silly. Even when we’re mad at her for leaving. Even when we wanna cry for no good reason. I bet, she’d make that face she did when you got worked up, smack you in the back of the head, and tell you to not be so sad. She loves us and she watches over us, Mikie’s mom said so.” I state matter-of-factly. He chuckles and nods. 

“I think you’re right. She would hit me for having feelings.” I smile and kiss his cheek. I rub his face and he grins, all previous sadness seemingly gone. The skin on his face is so scratchy. “I love you, Sofie.” He whispers. 

“I love you too, dad.” I say, kissing his cheek again. “And,” I start, raising my blond brows. 

“And we love mama,” We say together slowly. He sets me on the counter. Then he wanders into the pantry, probably looking for something to make for lunch. 

“I love you, mama,” I whisper into the air, hugging myself. I can smell her perfume. Is it really her? I open my eyes, watching a blue butterfly in the window. I smile. Mama loved blue butterflies. I wave at the fluttering bug. 

I knew it! Mama is watching over us. She still loves us. Mikie’s mom was right, I still don’t like her because she’s a meanie, but she was right about mama. A smile pulls my lips higher and I start wiggling when I see dad carrying a box of mac 'n cheese. Yay, lunch is mac 'n cheese.