Jenna put her hand over mine. “I want to be someone she can lean on. I promise. I want to be a wonderful mother to her.”
***
A few months ago, Jenna and I married. For the first few weeks, she made it easy to believe her promise.
“I want to be a wonderful mother to her.”
She took Liz shopping and came home with bags and a pink-cheeked daughter. When Liz dressed up for a school dance, Jenna gasped and clapped her hands.
“Look at you! You’re going to be a force, sweetheart. A confident young woman, just wait.”
Liz ducked her head, but she smiled.
I nearly cried into my coffee.
Then the other comments started. Small ones, tucked inside the nice ones.
Jenna gasped and clapped her hands.
“You’re eating too much, sweetheart.”
“Girls your age should be slim. Boys won’t like you anymore.”
“If I were you, I’d think twice and have some broccoli instead.”
Did I hear them? Sure. Did they bother me? A little, like a pebble in a shoe.
But Jenna always had that sunny voice, and she always said it was only to help. I told myself she was clumsy, not cruel. Some people just don’t know how to talk to teenagers.
