Chapter 5: The Notebook Left Open
That night Lauren took a shower upstairs and left her notebook on the kitchen counter.
I heard the water turn on through the ceiling. It was loud. Dad had come home late and he was still in his navy suit jacket. He stood at the counter with his keys in his hand. The kitchen was dark except for the light over the stove. The dog bowl was on the floor where it always was, orange and silver and empty.
The notebook was right next to it. It was small and black with a rubber band around it. I hadn't seen it up close before. Lauren always kept it in the hallway closet on the high shelf where I couldn't reach.
Dad stared at it. He didn't move for a long time. I stood in the doorway in my pajamas and watched him breathe.
He picked it up. He looked toward the hallway like he was listening for the shower. Then he slid the rubber band off.
I didn't say anything. My pocket was empty that night. I had no strawberries to hide.
He opened it to the middle. The pages were lined and full of her handwriting. Blue ink. Neat and small. He held it under the stove light and I stepped closer so I could see too.
At the top it said MAYA - FOOD LOG and then dates.
May 2 - Breakfast: earned. 1/2 toast, no butter. Lunch: skipped - unearned (talking back). Dinner: corn only. No seconds.
May 3 - Weight check: 41.2 lbs - holding. Note: needs to learn hunger is normal.
May 5 - Breakfast: unearned - whining. No breakfast. Lunch: corn + 4 crackers (earned after chores).
There were stamps next to some days. Little stars and red X's. Earned. Unearned.
Dad turned the page. His hand was tight on the corner.
May 6 - Ate without permission (strawberries from fridge). Privilege revoked next meal.
May 7 - Dinner: ate well when Daddy home - manipulative. Keep consistent.
May 8 - Told her food is a privilege not a right. Cried. Will understand.
I felt my face get hot. That was today. That was what she said to me that morning when Dad was at work.
Dad didn't know I was right there until I breathed. He looked down at me. His eyes were wet but he wasn't crying.
"Maya," he whispered. "Is this... does this happen when I'm at work?"
I nodded. I couldn't talk at first. The shower was still running upstairs.
"Every day?" he asked.
I swallowed. "When you're not here," I said. "She says I have to earn it."
He looked back at the notebook. He turned one more page. There were more days. More skipped meals. More notes about my weight. I was six. I didn't know what 41 pounds meant but I knew I was hungry after school.
He read three pages standing there. I counted. He read each line slow like he was trying to make sure he understood it right. His jaw was tight. He kept glancing at the hallway entrance.
"She wrote that you were manipulative," he said quiet, like he couldn't believe the word was about me.
I tugged on the bottom of his jacket. "Don't tell her I told you," I said. "Please."
He crouched down so we were the same height. The notebook was still open in his hand. He put his other hand on my shoulder.
"I'm not going to tell her you told me," he said. "This is not your fault."
The water upstairs stopped. We both heard it. The pipes made a little thump sound.
Dad moved fast but careful. He closed the notebook exactly where it had been open. He slid the rubber band back around it the same way, two times around. He put it back on the counter next to the dog bowl, angled just like it was before, not straight. He stared at it for a second to make sure it looked untouched.
Then he picked me up. He carried me to the doorway where it was darker so Lauren wouldn't see us together when she came down.
Her footsteps came down the hall a minute later. She had a towel around her hair and she was wearing gray sweatpants. She saw the notebook on the counter and picked it up without saying anything and took it with her to the hallway closet. She didn't look at us.
May you like
Dad held me against his chest and I could feel his heart beating fast under his white shirt. He didn't say anything until her bedroom door closed.
He had seen it now. It wasn't just one morning. It wasn't just corn. It was every day written down.
