Chapter 9 - The Offer to Clean My Dress
I woke up to the smell of coffee and lemon cleaner. For a second I thought yesterday hadn't happened. Then I saw the streamers still taped over the doorway and the flag in its frame, and my stomach dropped.
My white dress was draped over the end of my bed. There was still orange frosting on the sleeve. I hadn't wanted to look at it, so I'd left it in a ball on the floor. Somebody must have come in early and hung it up.
Downstairs, the living room looked almost normal. The rug had a damp spot where she'd scrubbed it. The balloons were sagging into the corners. The kitchen light was on.
She was in there. The blonde woman. She had her hair pulled back and she was wearing jeans and one of my brother's old college sweatshirts, not the dark green dress. She looked younger like that. She was wiping the counter.
"Morning, sweetie," she said, and smiled so fast. "You sleep okay?"
I nodded because I didn't trust my voice. My phone was in my pajama pocket. It dug into my leg when I sat at the table. The little vial from last night was still under my mattress upstairs. Me and my brother had promised not to tell.
My brother came in in his T-shirt and suit pants from yesterday, like he hadn't finished changing. He poured coffee and didn't drink it.
"She got up early to clean," he said to me. "Say thank you."
"Thank you," I whispered.
"It's nothing," she said. "I felt bad leaving it all. Parties are messy even when — even when things go sideways." She set the sponge down. "I actually wanted to help with your dress. That frosting will set if we don't soak it. Can I take it down and treat it? I know a trick with dish soap and cold water."
I stared at her hands. They were shaking just a little.
"It's upstairs," I said.
"I can grab it," she said. "No trouble."
My brother watched her. Not angry like yesterday when he'd shouted at her with the flag behind him. Just tired.
She pulled out the chair across from me and sat down, knees together, trying to be at eye level. I could smell her shampoo.
"Listen," she said softly. "I know yesterday was scary. I know you think you saw something bad on that video. I keep thinking about you carrying that around. That's a heavy feeling for a ten-year-old."
I didn't answer. I could hear the clock ticking.
"I had an idea that might help us both," she went on. "Let me send that video to myself. Just AirDrop it or text it. That way I can take it to the store, show them the flavoring bottle I used, clear my name. Then we can delete it and forget this whole thing. Wouldn't that feel better?"
My hand went to my pocket without thinking. I pressed the phone flat against my leg.
"No," I said.
Her smile stayed, but her eyes went still. "Honey, I'm not trying to take your phone. You can hold it the whole time. Just let me —"
"I said no."
My brother set his mug down too hard. Coffee sloshed over the side.
"Hey," he said. "She said no."
"I just want to clear this up," she said, turning to him. Her voice got higher. "You're letting a blurry video sit there and poison everything. If I had the file I could prove it was vanilla paste or whatever. Why is it bad that I want to prove I'm innocent?"
"You've asked three times since last night," he said.
I looked up at him. He wasn't looking at me. He was looking at her hands, which were now gripping the edge of the table.
"What?" she said. "So now I'm suspicious for wanting to defend myself?"
"I'm just saying you keep pushing for the phone," he said. "If it's nothing, it can wait until we're calm."
The kitchen went quiet except for the fridge humming. In the fridge, I knew, was the leftover cake in plastic wrap. Nobody had thrown it away.
She stood up fast and started wiping the same clean spot again. "Fine. Keep it locked up like I'm some criminal. I'm trying to be nice here. I'm trying to clean her dress and make breakfast and act like we're still a family."
She opened the cabinet and got out pancake mix. Her movements were jerky. She measured water with her back to us.
My brother reached under the table and squeezed my knee once, quick. It meant stay quiet. It meant he heard it too.
"I'll soak the dress," she said without turning around. "Just leave it on the stairs."
May you like
I nodded even though she couldn't see me. My phone felt hot in my pocket. Upstairs, under my mattress, the little empty vial felt even hotter in my memory, like it was burning through the sheets.
I wasn't going to give her either one.
