“Mm.” Penny stirs the sauce again. “Sure.”
Guilt pricks sharply in my chest, which somehow irritates me more, and I clutch at something to change the topic.
“Where’s Gus?”
Penny nods back toward the living room, where he’s snoring softly on the floor, hidden by the side of the couch.
“Took him for a huge run and let him chase Mr. Waddles. He’s tuckered out.”
I raise an eyebrow at Gus, completely at ease and out to the world, his ears flicking only sporadically with the noises from the stove top.
“You’ve been busy,” I say, turning to move into the kitchen and use the sink.
She shrugs a shoulder while she dishes up potatoes onto plates. “I like being productive.”
It’s more than that, but I don’t know how to put it into words, so instead, I nod and massage the soap into my hands before rinsing it off under the tap.
Penny moves around with ease, setting the table with cutlery and glasses. She places two plates down at the table, then moves back toward me again.
“Sit down and eat before it gets cold,” she says, passing a plate to me and nodding to the table.
And I stand there like an idiot, clutching this plate of food and staring at this woman with blue-streaked hair, making my kid happy and my dog tired and my house warm.
She slides into her seat, and Elle rushes back in to sit down, too. Penny looks up at me, an eyebrow raised.
“Are you gonna sit?”
“Yes,” I reply gruffly, moving to sit down at the other end.
Steam curls up from the food, and I pick up my knife and fork, staring down at the meal. Penny’s eyes flick to mine briefly before she looks back down at her own.
“Long day?”
“I’m fine,” I reply, cutting into the steak and not making eye contact.
She watches me for a second before looking back down at her own plate. Elle chatters through the entire meal, and Penny asks questions. Laughs at the right moments and nudges her gently when she talks with her mouth full.
I watch her reach across the table to wipe a smear of gravy from Elle’s cheek with her thumb. She grins and tells her that she must be really enjoying her food, instead of reprimanding or scolding.
And somewhere between the first bite and the last, I realize I can’t remember the last time I walked into my own house and didn’t immediately start scanning for what needed doing. Whoneeded helping or which metaphorical fire needed putting out first.
When Elle’s done, Penny sends her off to get into her pajamas and brush her teeth, and I help clear the dishes back into the kitchen. We work together in silence, the clink of the plates and cutlery cutting through the quiet thickness of it all.
Penny’s just finished covering the leftovers when I can’t keep my mouth shut any longer.
“You don’t have to do all this.”
She pauses with her hand on the fridge door and turns to me slowly. “You know, eventually I’m going to stop believing you mean that in a nice way.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Then stop saying it every five minutes. It’s not like I’m being held hostage.”
“It—that’s not what I’m saying.”
She hums, placing the leftovers in the fridge and swinging the door closed. “Could’ve fooled me.”
I open my mouth to argue again, then shut it. Because standing here in my kitchen while someone cooks me dinner and looks after my kid, I honestly don’t know what the hell I’m trying to defend myself from anymore.
