Chapter 15 - The Rolls We Ate in the Hallway
The hallway felt colder after the ballroom door closed behind us. The music got small, like it was coming through a wall of water. Dad still had me up in his arms for a second, then he set me down slow so my shoes touched the concrete. My legs felt wobbly. The plastic bag crinkled against my side. I hadn't let go of it once.
Mom kneeled right down in front of me. Her hair was messed up from the wind outside and her cheeks were red. She put both her hands on my knees.
"You did good waiting for me," she said. "You did nothing wrong."
I looked down at my shirt. The pink had a darker spot where I'd wiped my hands. "I got crumbs," I said.
Dad crouched next to her. His suit jacket hung open and his tie was a little crooked now. "Hey," he said, quiet. "Look at me, honey. You didn't do anything wrong. Not with the bread. Not hiding in here. You hear me?"
I nodded, but my throat felt tight. I held up the bag. "You said don't leave it."
Mom smiled, but her eyes were wet. "I know. You listened so good."
Dad sat all the way down on the floor with us. His pants would get dusty but he didn't care. He leaned his back against the concrete wall and patted the spot beside him. Mom sat too, and then I sat between them. The fluorescent light buzzed over us. My bitten roll was still in my hand, a little squished.
"I'm still hungry," I whispered.
Mom opened the plastic bag. There were three rolls left besides mine. She took one out and tore it in half. She gave half to Dad and half to me. Then she took another one and tore that too, and kept half for herself.
"Here," she said. "We eat together."
We ate right there on the floor. The bread was soft in the middle and a little crusty on the outside. Mine had a bite mark that had gone soggy. Dad ate his half in two bites. He chewed and nodded like it was the best thing he'd had all night.
"No cake?" I asked.
Mom laughed a little wet laugh. "No cake. This is better."
Dad put his arm around me. "That big white cake in there, with all the roses. It looked pretty, right? But it wasn't for us. This is for us."
I leaned into him. The hallway didn't smell like flowers. It smelled like mop water and cold air from the exit door. But with Mom on one side and Dad on the other, it felt warm in the little circle we made.
After a minute Dad got serious. He looked at Mom, then at me.
"Listen," he said. "No more locked doors. That's over. Nobody locks you outside again. Nobody tells you to hide with your food."
Mom nodded. She rubbed my back in little circles.
Dad went on, low and steady. "Your grandmother wants to come to our apartment, she has to say she's sorry first. To your mom. To you. To both of you. If she can't do that, she doesn't come in. That's the rule now."
"Even for Christmas?" I asked.
"Even for Christmas," he said. "We get to feel safe in our home."
I thought about Grandmother in her purple dress holding her glass by the cake. I wasn't mad the way grown-ups get mad. I was just tired. "Will she be sad?" I asked.
Mom tucked my ponytail behind my ear. "She might be. But that's her job to fix, not yours."
We finished the rolls. Mom ate slow. Dad brushed crumbs off my blue pants and off his own black pants. There was one roll left in the bag. Mom held it up.
"Split it three ways?" she asked.
Dad broke it with his fingers. It tore uneven. He gave me the biggest piece. We each ate our last bite at the same time. I checked the bag. It was empty except for crumbs. I folded the plastic down small in my lap.
Dad stood up first and helped Mom up, then lifted me. I didn't need to be carried, but I liked his arms around me. The metal tray was still by the wall where I'd been crouching when he found me. I pointed at it.
"We leave that?" I asked.
"We leave that," Dad said. "We take the bag."
May you like
Mom took Dad's hand. Dad held me with the other arm. We walked toward the exit sign at the end of the hallway. The fluorescents flickered once. Behind us, I could still hear the party, faint and gold and far away. In front of us, the door had a little window with night on the other side.
I held the empty bread bag tight. It wasn't heavy anymore. It just smelled like bread. And we were all going out the same door together.
