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“Yes, they’re kittens. I think the kittens might also like eggs.”
She looked at her plate for a long while, turning it around slowly to look at the pictures of the kittens scampering around the border of the plate. She may have not been eating the food, but at least she hadn’t pushed it away yet.
Clara then carefully picked up her new matching fork and put the tiniest amount of eggs into her mouth.
I held my breath, trying not to watch her or make her self-conscious. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her raise another small forkful to her mouth and chew it very slowly.
“Clara likes,” she commented quietly.
I gave her a small smile of encouragement.
At that moment, Lorenzo strode into the dining room, his deep brown eyes zeroing in on Wilbur. “What’s he doing in here?” he barked.
“Clara wanted Wilbur to join us.”
He looked up at his daughter but stilled as he watched her bring another small amount of eggs to her mouth.
“Wilbur and Clara have decided they both like Adelina’s scrambled eggs.”
“Good,” he nodded, clearly not sure what else to say.
He sat down at the head of the table, and drinking his coffee, he kept watching Clara as she ate. She didn’t touch her cereal or toast, but she ate over half the eggs on her plate.
“What do you think we should give Wilbur to drink?” I asked the children.
“Milk!” shouted Clemente.
“Yes, Clemente, cats like milk.” I poured a little into Wilbur’s bowl. “Would anyone else like some?”
Clemente and Clara both nodded, so I put milk into their new cups and they both drank some—Clemente taking big gulps, while Clara took more cautious sips.
As Wilbur lapped at his milk, Lorenzo scowled. “Your cat is really noisy when he drinks.”
Jeez, he really was uptight.
The kids were spending the day with Lorenzo’s mother today. Lorenzo had said that they liked spending time with her and it would be a break from me so as to not overwhelm them with too much, too soon.
While we’d been eating breakfast, I’d put Clara’s dress in the dryer. I took her and Clemente upstairs to wash their hands and clean their teeth. “Would you like to wear one of your new outfits for your grandmother?” I suggested to Clara.
“No.” She shook her head resolutely.
I contained a sigh. I knew she was not going to be easily convinced. Instead, I took her to the laundry room to check if her dress was dry yet.
“There’s still a few minutes left on the drying cycle,” I explained to her.
“Okay,” she said, kneeling down in front of the dryer. It was one of those machines that had the drum door at the front so that you could see the clothing inside. Clara watched her dress spin around and around the drum, transfixed by the sight.
As I watched her, I thought how I kept seeing glimpses of sadness in her—similar to the glimpses I saw in Lorenzo when he wasn’t being angry about something.
Once the machine beeped at the end of its cycle, it didn’t need ironing thankfully, so I handed her the dry dress and she happily changed into it.
In the den, Clara brought me Wilbur’s brush and a new sky-blue ribbon, while Clemente chose a yellow collar for Wilbur to wear today. Clara watched while Clemente and I brushed his fur. Then Clara handed me her comb, and I gently combed through her curls. Next, I tied matching sky-blue ribbons in her hair and on Wilbur’s collar.
While we did this, Lorenzo tapped his foot impatiently, flicking though e-mails on his cell phone while he waited for me to finish getting the children ready so that he could drop them at his mother’s house. “Can’t you deal with the cat later?” he snapped.
“Clara likes for her and Wilbur to have matching ribbons.”
Lorenzo just looked at me like I was mad.
