I stepped in cautiously. “Two what?”
“Spiders,” she said flatly. “Big ones.”
I blinked.
“Spiders?”
“Tangerine-sized,” she muttered.
My knees wobbled.
“I drove here like a maniac,” I said. “You didn’t answer. The house was dark. The call cut out. Lila said—”
“She called you?” Emma looked at Lila, surprised.
“She used your phone,” I said. “Right before the line cut.”
Emma looked between me and the mop, then sighed and sat on the toilet lid like she’d just completed a marathon.
The tension didn’t disappear. My hands were still shaking.
I looked at Lila — still plastered to the wall, eyes fixed on the ceiling.
Emma finally stood, brushing hair from her face.
“Well,” she said, still gripping the mop, “that was ridiculous.”
Lila slowly crept toward me, eyes wide. She whispered, “Mommy was pretending.”
Emma turned. “What?”
“You said it was no big deal,” Lila murmured, “but you were whispering ‘oh no, oh no’ under your breath. I heard you.”
Emma let out a breathy laugh and covered her face. “Okay. You got me.”
She looked at me, sheepish. “I didn’t want to scare her.”
“You didn’t,” Lila said proudly. “You just looked… funny.”
We all laughed then — not a big laugh, but the soft kind that bubbles up once the adrenaline drains away and you realize everything is okay.
Emma shook her head. “I can’t believe she called you.”
“She was worried,” I said.
“She’s five.”
“She’s clever.”
Lila lit up.
I didn’t admit that I’m terrified of spiders too. Bob used to deal with them. Now I just use the vacuum and pray.
After that, we made popcorn. Sat around the kitchen island in pajamas, eating salty handfuls and laughing at nothing in particular.
The bathroom stayed closed. None of us wanted to open it again.
That night, I stayed over. Emma offered, but she didn’t need to — I wasn’t going anywhere.
Lila had already dragged her sleeping bag into the guest room before I finished brushing my teeth. I tucked her in, folding her favorite blanket over her shoulders.
Her curls were still wild, her cheeks flushed pink from the excitement.
She whispered, “Next time… I’ll call before the spiders show up.”
I kissed her forehead. “Good plan.”
I didn’t tell her that I probably would’ve screamed too. Some truths stay between grown-ups.
As I sat on the edge of the bed watching her drift off, I thought about how love works. Sometimes it looks like bedtime stories. Sometimes it’s frantic phone calls and running red lights. Sometimes it’s simply showing up when someone is pretending not to be scared.
And sometimes? It’s late-night snacks in the kitchen. Just us girls. Making life work the best we can.
