Chapter 2: The Kitchen Light
My father didn't move from that spot at the bottom of the stairs until Kelly took two steps back from the door. He didn't yell. He kept his voice level the way he did when he was trying not to scare me but I could see his jaw working.
"Maya, come here," he said, and tipped his head toward the kitchen. He didn't grab me. I had to push myself off the door frame. My legs felt strange, like I'd been standing too long in one position. I kept the handbag on my shoulder and my hand over my cheek without thinking about it, and I walked past Kelly. She watched me the whole way, her heels silent on the rug now. The daylight from the large windows made everything in the living room too sharp, the stone of the fireplace, the blanket on the couch, the scuff on the wood floor where she'd pushed me.
In the kitchen he pulled out a chair at the island for me. "Sit," he said quietly. I sat. He opened the freezer and wrapped a few ice cubes in a kitchen towel and handed it to me. "Hold that there," he said. I pressed it to my face and it stung. Kelly had followed us but stayed by the entryway, arms crossed over her teal blouse. She was breathing faster than us.
"Maya," my father said again, crouching so he was at eye level. "Are you okay to tell me? Just what happened, start to finish." The kitchen light was bright overhead, humming a little. I could smell coffee from earlier and the lemon cleaner Kelly used.
I told him in pieces. That I'd come downstairs with the bag for the library. That she'd been behind me. That she'd pushed me. I kept my sentences short because my throat kept closing. Kelly cut in from the doorway. "Brandon, I asked her to keep her shoes off the rug and she mouthed off. She swung her bag at me."
My father didn't look at her. He looked at me. "Did you swing your bag at her?"
I shook my head. The ice made my cheek numb. "No. I was holding it. I didn't let go."
He nodded once, slow. Then he stood and finally turned to Kelly. "You said she was leaving," he said. "She tells me you pushed her to the door. Which is it?"
Kelly's face changed, her mouth tight. "She was being disrespectful about her mother again. This house needs rules. You let her treat it like a shrine."
"That's not an answer," he said. His voice stayed quiet but it dropped lower. "I left for twenty minutes and I came home to you with my daughter pinned against the front door with a mark on her face. You told me she was leaving on her own. Was she?"
There was a long pause. The refrigerator clicked on. Kelly looked at the floor, then at me, then back at him. "I told her it might be better if she stayed with her aunt for a few days," she said. "I didn't throw her."
My father stared at her for a few seconds, breathing through his nose. Then he walked to the front hall closet, got her purse and her keys off the hook, and set them on the entry table. Not thrown, just placed.
"I think you should go stay somewhere else tonight," he said. "Just tonight. I need to figure this out without yelling in front of her."
Kelly's eyes widened. "You're kicking me out for her version? Brandon, come on."
May you like
"I'm asking you to give us space," he said. "Please."
She grabbed the purse, not the keys at first, then the keys. She looked at me once more, not apologetic, just careful. The front door opened and the bright air from outside came in for a second before she stepped out and it closed again. I heard her heels on the concrete walkway and then nothing. My father stood with his hand on the back of the kitchen chair, looking at the door, then at me. The towel in my hand had started to leak onto my sweater.
