Newfound Family

Reflection

When they arrived at the farm the next day, Wanda was nervous. She had fully expected Lila and Cooper to bombard her with questions, things she really didn't want to talk about. They would ask her to play, go tobogganing, when she really didn't want to. Sure, she wanted to see them, but that's it. She didn't feel like playing or talking. Just seeing.

But it was different. Not what Wanda had expected at all.

When Wanda had exited the Quinjet, gripping the bottom of her mother's jacket, whose hands were too full of bags to actually hold her hand, Lila and Cooper stood off to the side, waving. Lila didn't run to hug her auntie Nat. Cooper didn't utter a peep. It felt different, and an overcoming wave of burden engulfed her like a ship at sea. She willed away tears, feeling guilty that she was secretly happy at the lack of joy in the environment. She remembered at the beginning, last June, it had been too much. The joy, the enthusiasm. Then, she couldn't get enough of it. Now it was back to being too much again. Laura must've given the two children a serious talk.

Wanda's been through a lot. She's scared, now. Lila, don't be too hyper. Don't ask her questions. Cooper, maybe hold off on asking her to go tobogganing or play video games. Just for a little while, until she's more comfortable, Wanda imagined her say.

Wanda felt guilty, and because of this, she had vowed to spend a lot more time by herself, instead of with Lila or Cooper, or even her parents. She played with her toys on the floor of the spare bedroom under the window, hidden by the bed, hidden from the world. Sometimes, if she was feeling brave enough to be seen, she'd even sit on the windowsill, drawing pictures in the fog from the cool winter air outside; dogs, horses, stick figures of her family. She even had a new person to add. Auntie Lena.

Sometimes, she'd draw on paper, too, courtesy of Aunt Laura, and Nat noticed she kept those drawings shoved them under the bed instead of giving them to her or Laura to put on the fridge like she used to.

She felt confused. She wanted her parents with her twenty-four seven. She felt nauseous when she wasn't with them. A sickening feeling that she'd be taken away from them again, never to be seen again. But in a way, she wanted more than anything to not feel that way anymore. Especially when they were constantly gentle with her. Not that they weren't before, of course they were. But it felt like more, now. Like they were always stepping on glass, afraid to say something that would trigger a flashback or a panic attack. Afraid she was on the verge of breaking.

One day, when her dad made her breakfast, she finally felt like it was enough.

Steve had placed a single waffle in front of her, spread with Nutella and little strawberries cut up, placed carefully around the edge and in the middle to look like the shape of a lion. Laura had taught him that trick, from when Lila decided a few years ago that she had wanted to all of a sudden become a picky eater: make the meals into shapes of animals, and somehow, some type of child psychology, it made it desirable to eat.

Wanda gave a small smile, looking up at her dad with a mix of sadness and amusement, but she didn't move to eat it. They tried so hard all the time. It formed a pit of overwhelming guilt in her stomach.

"What's wrong, sweet pea? Why won't you eat?" He asked, concerned.

Wanda shrugged, looking down to the plate. She moved a strawberry around with her fork, and it slid easily across the melted Nutella.

"I'm not hungry."

Steve sighed again. It was her go-to excuse for three weeks now. They only got enough food into her to keep her from being exhausted and weak, but it was beginning to start to show in the child.

"Please, Wanda? Just eat what you can?"

She took a strawberry, staring at it between her eyes like it was some sort of enemy. Steve realized she wasn't going to eat it. He didn't even know why he tried. She never ate in the mornings anymore.