A cardigan that wasn't oversized when I gifted it to her for Mother's Day a few years ago.
"Long and boring."
She scoffs at that and turns back to her cooking, stirring the skillet where the chicken stew simmers like some dangerous potion. It's that good.
Especially when you're starving like I am now.
"You know you can't keep doing double shifts like that, Maddie. You'll work yourself to death."
Mom reaches up to pull down the pepper grinder from the shelf above the stove, then stops. She takes a half step closer and reaches for the pepper again, then keeps cooking like nothing happened.
From my position, I see the way she tries to hide a wince of pain. I want to ask her about it, but I don't. She hates it when I fuss.
Eleven months cancer-free and all that remains of her ordeal is that damned arm pain on her left side. I should feel blessed by this, but it's hard feeling blessed when I see the woman who loved me when no one else would in pain.
"I'm fine, Mom."
"You're going to drop dead in my kitchen if you don't slow down to take care of yourself."
"That would be inconvenient for both of us."
"Don't quip about your health, young lady." She points the wooden spoon at me. "Dinner's twenty minutes. Sit."
"I'm gonna shower first." I shake my head.
"Go on, then." She turns back to the stove. "But if you fall asleep in there, I am not pulling you out."
"Love you too."
I make it two steps toward the hall before the familiar sound of Dad's truck stops me in my tracks.
I glance down at my wrist and frown. Dad's company has been slowing down in the past few months, but he's not normally home this early.
"Lenny, is that you?" Mom calls.
"Yeah honey, it's me," Dad calls from the still-open doorway.
I stand there as his towering seven-foot frame enters the kitchen a few moments later. His short black hair is silver at the temple and his tusks jut prominently from his lower lip. His work overalls are faded and stained, stretched at the shoulder by his imposing frame.
He's every bit the big, strong orc man he always was, his steady, comforting presence making the air in a room settle. Except when he looks up at me, then back at the ground, I get an ominous feeling, deep inside my guts that has nothing to do with my gnawing hunger.
"You're home early."
My voice comes out small and low, like I'm wishing the words back.
He crosses to me and kisses me on the cheek, careful that his overalls don't touch my clothes. I get a whiff of diesel and peppermint and then he straightens. I watch from my position in the hallway as he goes to do the same with Mom, except the kiss is on her lips and it lingers just a bit more.
"Gonna get a minute in the office before dinner," he says after he pulls back.
"Oh." Mom smiles, but even from my position, I see her disappointed frown. "But you just got here."
"I'll be just a minute."
His footsteps go past me and his large hand squeezes my shoulder as he walks by. He doesn't look back as he reaches the small room at the end of the hall and closes the door behind him.
That growing unease I felt the moment he stepped into the house grows more vivid.
Dad never closes the office door. He goes in there to do the bills with the radio set on that country music station he likes. With the door open. He always said a man doesn't need to hide behind a closed door.
