Okay.
When I get home, I find my mom in the kitchen, her hands buried in a small heap of suds and coffee mugs and a steady stream of water from the faucet into the large sink.
“Hey, Mom.”
“Hi, James,” she answers, her neck craned over her shoulder while her hands are occupied.
“You don’t have to do those.”
“I know,” she tells me. “I just wanted to keep busy until you guys got home.”
“I can do the rest.”
She hums dismissively with her focus on a crusty bowl that once held a serving of cereal and continues. “Is Kendall on her way home?”
I nod. “I think so. She said she was getting ice cream, but she should be home soon.”
I have my empty travel mug in my hand, and the handle dangles from my fingertips awkwardly. A habit of not wanting to add to my mom’s workload but not really knowing where else to place it.
My mom looks at me with a flat smile and offers a dripping hand in my direction. “Give it.”
I chuckle. “Thanks.”
Her being here helps pour a little bit of normalcy into our home. Most days, aside from the few when I’m able to leave the office early or during breaks when Kendall gets to stay home with Sophia, my mom helps us. While we toyed with the idea of Sophia going to school where Kendall teaches, it made more sense to keep her at her home school where my mom could do after-school pickups. Especially on the days Kendall’s workload kept her past her usual office hours, which would’ve left Sophia moping in her classroom with the question, “Are we leaving yet?” leaving her pouty mouth every five minutes. And with the preferential art programs at the high schools within our district where she would eventually attend, we couldn’t really find any other reason to schlep Sophia eighteen miles away to a completely different district out of mere convenience for our commute.
My mom finishes with the dishes and starts towel drying her hands when I hear the front door open followed by a distant shriek of the word “Mommy” echoing through the walls. It’s funny how my arrival wasn’t even acknowledged, but Kendall gets a fanfare welcome.
The sounds grow louder. The rustle of shopping bags and excited chatter announces Kendall’s arrival in the kitchen, and when she rounds the final wall, I see her weary smile. It isn’t a taut or forced smile, but one that comes from finally being in a relaxed state after a chaotic day. One I rarely get to witness. And it stops me in my tracks for a second, making my offer to take the clunky grocery bag from her clumsy.
“Thank you,” she whispers when I manage to slip the twined handle from her middle finger and set it on the counter. Sheturns to my mom, her smile deepening, and softly says, “Hi, Beth.”
“Hi, honey.” I don’t miss how my wife is “honey,” but I’m just “James.”
“Did Soph give you any trouble today?”
“Aside from the stickers on the windows in my van? She was a perfect angel.”
Kendall turns to me with an exasperated eye roll. “We have to get her to stop doing that.”
The smile on her face reminds me of when we first met. When birthday cupcakes were all that were on the itinerary until we realized what else was on the table. Some harmless flirting and roommate gossip. When I didn’t realize how quickly we’d fall for each other.
“Did you want to stay for dinner?” Kendall offers. “I got some stuff to make chicken lettuce wraps.”
This is news to me since I was planning on heating up the leftover lasagna in the fridge. But I stay quiet, letting Kendall’s offer stand.
“Sure,” my mom answers.
Kendall starts unloading the other groceries she bought alongside the ice cream. My mom goes to seek out Sophia, knowing she’ll be ecstatic about our additional dinner guest.
“Do you need some help?”
Kendall smiles at me, her hands busy as she places everything on the counter. This one is the kind of smile that’s all tentative and unsure, lacking confidence, a slight change from her last one. It’s careful but anticipatory, but she still manages to answer with more than a dismissive, ‘No, thank you.’
“Do you think you could wash the lettuce?” she asks.
“Yeah, of course.” My answer comes out in a weak croak. I don’t think there’s anything I want more than to wash thelettuce. I’d go dig it out of the ground if she’d ask me in that expectant voice and soft tone.
Kendall takes the last item out of the shopping bags, and I see that it’s a small paper bag with a bright blue Rx logo on it. I pretend not to notice as she tucks it away into a drawer. Instead, I roll up my sleeves, hook a dish towel over my shoulder, and get to washing the shit out of some lettuce.
