When I finish dressing the bagel, I set it down in front of Nina.
“Thank you,” she says softly, unable to meet my eye.
“You’re welcome,” I say firmly. “Coffee? I was just about to make a second cup.”
She steals a quick glance up at me and then looks back at her plate. “Um… sure.”
I move back to the counter and grab another mug. “How do you take it?”
She’s so quiet, I look back at her over my shoulder.
“H-however you take it is fine.”
I stare at her agog. “You… you can’t mean that.” My morning cup—or, more accuratelycups—of coffee are a sacred ritual. Pen claims that it might as well be magic. She could be right. If I don’t get my eight ounces of Community Coffee with a quarter cup of Borden’s whole milk, and two packs of Wholesome Stevia, I’m a monster.
But I know that the way I take my coffee is just right for me. Not everyone else.
When Nina doesn’t respond, I do the only thing I can do. Make two cups of my coffee.
I bring them over to the table, and when I set the mug down in front of her, Nina stares at it as though it just landed from Mars.
“Is it too light?” I ask. Nanna used to tease me about what she called my “coffee milk.”
She shakes her head. “No...N-no one’s ever made me coffee before.”
I’m glad she’s still staring at the cup when she says this because I know my face must register first shock and then heartbreak on her behalf.
I remember sitting at this very table when I was Maisy’s age, drinking coffee milk Nanna made for me out of a miniature tin cup with a tiny spoon. I remember how Nanna would put so much sugar in for me that there would still be undissolved crystals at the bottom that I’d lap up with my tongue.
Nina picks up the mug with both hands like a priest during the consecration. She blows over the steaming surface, and when she takes a sip, her gaze flies to mine.
“That’s delicious,” she says, sounding surprised.
I try not to smile too big. “Glad you like it.”
When she blushes a little, I turn my attention back to Maisy. “Two minutes, bug, and then it’s time to brush your teeth.”
She drops the last wedge of her bagel onto her plate. “I’m ready now.” Maisy starts to push herself from the table with buttery hands.
“Hey, wipe your face and hands first.”
She flashes sassy eyes at me, but she knows better than to say anything. She wipes her hands on her napkin and hops down from the table.
“Morning, Uncle Tyler!” Maisy cheers. I turn to find my brother standing in the doorway in his boxer shorts and a white T-shirt. His face is blank, but his eyes are on Nina.
I look at her and find her frozen, the mug halfway from the table to her mouth, which is clamped shut. A look of terror in her eyes.
“Nina, this is my brother, Tyler.” I turn back. Tyler hasn’t moved from the doorway. “Tyler, this is Nina. She’s our new roommate.”
Neither one greets the other. Tyler stares. Nina…shrinks.That’s the best way to describe it. Her elbows tuck in toward her body as she sets the mug down. Her shoulders hunch, and her hair falls over her face. And then she performs the best vanishing act I’ve never seen.
“I have to go.” Her chair scrapes against the kitchen floor, and she’s a streak of blonde and white before her footfalls beat a path up the stairs.
Tyler’s gaze is fixed on the kitchen door opposite him where she just fled. It occurs to me then, just a little too late, that I didn’t say anything to either of them last night.
I should have told Tyler I’d rented one of the rooms. He knew about the plan for us to take in renters. But I should have gone to his room last night after I got Nina settled upstairs and told him he’d see someone new.
Adjusting to changes is hard for people with head trauma. Moving here has been easier for Tyler than if we’d moved anywhere else. He’s known Nanna’s house his whole life. This place is familiar. But I should have prepared him to see a stranger at our table this morning.
