When we’re done, I put my soup in a glass container in the refrigerator and slap a sticky note on top.
Do NOT eat this disgusting soup.
My energy begins to wane somewhere around seven o’clock. While Nellie watches her hour of television, I attack the broken vacuum and the mess left in her bedroom from this morning. A trusty pair of scissors is all I need to remove a nasty tangle of hair wrapped around the brush roll, and it probably would have helped if he had ever emptied the canister. I give it a good rinse and plug it in, smiling to myself when it doesn’t blow up in my face.
Another success.
Sutton might have his reservations about me, but he won’t be able to dispute the facts.
His daughter is happy and fed.
Her homework is done.
And the house is cleaner than it was this morning.
Win. Win. Win.
“All right, kiddo. It’s time to get washed up so we can finish your reading.”
She does a good job of not pouting too much. Thirty minutes later, she’s showered and in fresh pajamas, with clean hair and her library book held loosely in her hands.
“Miss Alice, can I read to you?” The question is hesitant, nothing like all our other interactions today.
“Of course you can,” I answer instantly.
She slips her small hand in mine and tugs me down the stairs.
“I always read in Daddy’s room. He has the biggest bed.”
Oh shit.
I pump the brakes. “I don’t think I should go into your dad’s room.”
“Why not?” Her brows slash deeply across her forehead. “I always read to everyone in here. Grammy, Cortney, Uncle Silas. Sometimes, reading makes me sleepy, and if I fall asleep, Daddy will let me stay for a while.”
The image she paints is beautiful. One of a secure childhood surrounded by love.
I don’t want to crush her and her perfect image of her father by telling her he hates me and might just burn the bed down if I touch it.
Not to mention that I don’t actually want to see the place where Sutton sleeps, more than likely in very few pieces of clothing.
“Your dad and I are brand-new friends. I think he’d be more comfortable if you read to me on the couch or in your room.”
She pauses at the threshold, and I nearly sigh. She tilts her chin just enough to meet my eyes.
“Nah. He won’t care. Come on.”
Her mighty tug sends me stumbling into the room.
I try really hard not to take it all in. I barely notice that the carpet is the same as in Nellie’s room and in the hall. That he sleeps in a king-sized bed pressed up against a black accent wall and a plush headboard with wooden posts on either end. Or how the dark gray duvet is neatly made without a wrinkle, hiding the evidence of which side he sleeps on.
Maybe he sleeps in the middle.
I would.
I mean, if I was alone.
My cheeks puff out as she pulls me closer and climbs up. Nellie pats the space beside her.
