Ingrid stomped into her father’s house like she owned the place, filled with a sense of pride and purpose that she had thought long lost. Ingrid felt comfortable, even confident in the space. It was hers now. The man inside was her father. The children her siblings. The fridge was her fridge and the food was her food, and there would be no Holland Mitchell returning to come and rub herself on any of it. It was hers.
The smile she wore was not because of the superbowl. Ingrid could barely follow a game of football, let alone foster excitement about a whole day worshipping it. She was happy because -- good fucking riddance, finally -- the wicked witch was dead. Ding dong, all that shit. The Shores were finally free.
Every part of her felt lighter. Every step felt bouncy. Ingrid bounded into the living room with the game already on and made her presence known, making big movements, talking loud.
“Hello family,” she said, walking right in front of the television as she did. Ingrid tossed the bag of chips she brought over onto the nearby coffee table, then looked down at the pair of wiggly babies crawling around the floor.
“Who let the dogs out?” Ingrid joked. She smiled to herself and crouched down, scooping Elsie up off the floor to instead rest on her hip. “Huh? Who let you out?” She teased, squishing Elsie’s chunky cheeks between her thumb and forefinger. “Did you get invited to the party?”
Elsie laughed, legs kicking.
Ingrid chuckled too, looking up to see her dad -- her dad -- sitting on the couch. She started crossing over to them, knowing very well that Albie was following down on the ground.
“Sup, pops,” Ingrid said. “How’s the game?”
@keepingupwiththeshores