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Tuesday.
When five o’clock Tuesday evening comes, I approach the apartment, carrying two large pizzas—a cheese pizza with only cheese, like Madison requested, the other a monstrosity made with ham and pineapple.
Hesitantly, I knock, hearing a flurry of footsteps inside before the door yanks open, the little ball of energy in front of me, grinning.
“Madison Jacqueline!” Kennedy shouts, popping up in my line of sight. “What did I say about answering the door like that?”
“Oh.” Her eyes widen, and before I can say a word, she swings the door shut, slamming it in my face. I stand here for a moment before the door cracks open again, her head peeking out as she whispers, “You gots to knock.”
As soon as it shuts again, I tap on the door.
“Who’s there?” she yells.
“Jonathan.”
“Jonathan who?”
I laugh, shifting the pizzas around when they start slipping from my grip. Before I can answer, the door opens once more, Kennedy standing there.
“Sorry,” she mumbles, motioning for me to come in as she grasps Madison by the shoulders, steering her along. “We’re working on this stranger danger thing. She’s way too trusting.”
“But I know it was him,” Madison protests.
“You can never be too sure,” Kennedy says. “It’s always best to double-check.”
I open my mouth to offer an opinion but stop myself, not sure if I’m at that place where my advice is welcome. I’m not trying to get kicked out before even eating any pizza.
“So, uh, where should I…?” I told up the pizza boxes as I trail off.
“Oh, right. Kitchen table’s fine.”
“I’ll show you!” Madison announces, as if I don’t know where it is, but I let her lead me there anyway. Kennedy shuts the door and follows behind us. I set the boxes on the table, and Madison doesn’t hesitate, popping the top one open. She makes a face, looking horrified. “Gross!”
“What in the world are you—?” Kennedy laughs as she glances at the pizza. “Ham and pineapple.”
“Why is that fruit on the pizza?” Madison asks.
“Because it’s good,” Kennedy says, snatching the top box away before opening the other one. “There, that one’s for you.”
Madison shrugs it off, grabbing a slice of cheese pizza, eating straight from the box. I’m gathering this is normal, since Kennedy sits down beside her to do the same.
“You remembered,” she says plucking a piece of pineapple off a slice of pizza and popping it in her mouth.
“Of course,” I say, grabbing a slice of cheese from the box Madison is hoarding. “Pretty sure I’m scarred for life because of it. Not something I can forget.”
She laughs, the sound soft, as she gives me one of the most genuine smiles I’ve seen in a while. It fades as she averts her gaze, but goddamn it, it happened.
“You shoulda gots the breads,” Madison says, standing on her chair as she leans closer, vying for my attention like she’s afraid I might not see her. “And the chickens!”
“Ah, didn’t know you liked those,” I tell her, “or I would’ve gotten them.”
“Next time,” she says, just like that, no question about it.
“Next time,” I say.
“And soda, too,” she says.
“No soda,” Kennedy chimes in.
Madison glances at her mother before leaning even closer, damn near right up on me, whisper-shouting, “Soda.”
“I’m not so sure your mom will like that,” I say.
“It’s okay,” Madison says. “She tells Grandpa no soda, too, but he lets me have it.”
“That’s because you emotionally blackmail him,” Kennedy says.
“Nuh-uh!” Madison says, looking at her mother. “I don’t blackmail him!”
Kennedy scoffs. “How do you know? You don’t even know what that means.”
“So?” Madison says. “I don’t mail him nothing!”
I’m trying not to laugh, I am, but Jesus Christ, it’s almost like she’s arguing with herself. Kennedy was always stubborn as hell, but I've never been any better. It’s why, when the two of us fought, things got ugly.
“You give him those sad puppy-dog eyes,” Kennedy says, grabbing Madison by the chin, squeezing her chubby cheeks. “And you tell him you’ll love him ‘the mostest’ if he gives you some Coca-Cola to drink.”
“ ‘Cuz I will,” Madison says.
“That’s emotional blackmail.”
“Oh.” Madison makes a face, turning to me when her mother lets go of her. “How ‘bout root beer?”
“I’m afraid not,” I tell her. “Sorry.”
Madison scowls, hopping down from the table to grab a juice box from the refrigerator.
Silence surrounds the table, but it only lasts a moment before Madison decides on something else she wants to talk about. The kid can ease even the most awkward situations, I’m realizing, as she chatters away, telling some story about something somebody at school did for Show & Tell today.
“Go wash up,” Kennedy tells her when she’s done eating, pizza sauce all over her hands and face. “Finish your homework and then you can play.”
Madison jumps down from the table to run off. I hear water running in the distance as Kennedy puts the leftovers away.
