Ethel 'n Opal

prologue

e t h e l   t r e v o r - d i x o n  |future|

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Not here.

Nope.

This one too.

"I could've sworn I put that damn toy in this box-"

"Mummy I can't find Echo!" I turn to my distressed daughter, hands still busy digging through the box on the kitchen counter. The five year old has fat tears running down her cheeks, staining her already somewhat dirty clothes, and she looks at me with large glassy eyes. It's honestly scary sometimes how much she looks like her ema. (Amharic translation: mother) 

My heart squeezes at the sight and I can't offer much other than a sympathetic look, "I know babylove. See, I checked every box in here," I gesture towards the packed up kitchen, "and I still can't find him."

She's now full on sobbing over her lost stuffed octopus and this causes me to kick into some serious mommy mode. I pick her up, wiping some tears away, and hastily moving around the house to search for a box that wasn't already opened or labeled. Meanwhile, the movers are due to come in twenty minutes and I still have more packing to do. Not to mention my hormones are driving me crazy. My back hurts because of this growing baby boy inside me, this is most-likely going to be the tenth time I need to pee this hour - without any privacy might I add, my feet are swollen, and my wife isn't here to console me with her annoying ass sweet words of comfort.

sigh.

After countless minutes wasted searching, I still can't find that thing so I plop down with her on the couch, exhausted. "How about I get you a new toy-"

"No!"

"M'ap pop ou oui"(translation: I will pop you). I look at her like she's lost her mind. She sniffs, wiping under her snotty nose before hugging me with those same dirty fingers.

"Noooo, mummy." she wines against my neck.

"How you gonna scream at me one minute and then want me to hold you the next?"

"I sorry."

I want to ignore her but this my baby, so of course I give her one more stern look before caving in. "Don't do that again, kay?"

"Kaykay..." She fiddles with my hair, "But we find Echo right?"

I give her a long blink, "I'm not sur-"

The doorbell cuts me off and I stand with a frustrated groan, waddling towards the entrance with a equally stressed child trailing behind me.

I open the door to reveal the woman of the hour. Slightly out of breath, most likely from running up the driveway, I conclude after seeing her car parked across the street.

"Ema'ma!"(Amharic translation: mommy or mom)

Before she can lean in to kiss me, Opal braces herself quick and stoops down to pick up an eager Mariah. "Hey princess-"

"I can't find Echo!"

I smack my lips, rolling my eyes at the one phrase that's been haunting me since nine a.m. this morning. Opal must gauge my mood from my body language quick because next thing I know, she's placing a bag of takeout in my hand, locking the door behind her as she leads us to the living room with a hand at the small of my back.

When I tell you its the little shit that keeps me falling in love with this woman again and again over these past eighteen years. But still, I keep my attitude even after she seats me on the couch, rubbing my shoulders while animatedly holding a conversation with our daughter like she understands most of the things coming out of that kid's mouth.