Chapter 7 - Mom In The Kitchen
I slipped back into the kitchen with a stack of dessert plates I didn't need to carry. It was an excuse, and Sarah knew it, but she made room for me at the sink anyway. The dining room hummed behind us, low voices and silverware, the tree blinking in the corner of my eye every time someone moved past the doorway.
She had her sleeves pushed up and her hair pinned back. The sink was full of hot water and suds, and the counter was crowded with serving bowls still half-full of green beans and mashed potatoes gone cold around the edges. She didn't look up right away.
"You don't have to do that," she said.
"I know," I said. I set the plates down on the towel. "Put me to work."
That got a small smile out of her. She handed me a dish towel and went back to scrubbing. For a while we just worked. I scraped and she washed and I dried. The water hissed. Someone in the other room laughed, then quieted. The smell of turkey grease and dish soap hung thick in the warm air.
I watched her hands. She kept pausing with the sponge in the water, staring at nothing for a second too long before she remembered what she was holding.
"You look tired," I said.
She breathed out through her nose. "It's Christmas. I'm supposed to look tired."
"Long day with the cooking?"
"Long week," she said. She rinsed a glass and set it in the rack hard enough that I thought it might crack. Then she softened. "Sorry. I didn't mean it like that."
I dried the glass and set it aside. "How's Maya been doing? Sleeping okay?"
Sarah's hands stopped. Just for a beat. She kept them in the water, fingers curled around a serving spoon.
"Why do you ask that?" she said.
I kept my voice even. "She seemed wired tonight. Up past her bedtime with all this noise, I figured she'd be out cold, but she was still running around."
She pulled the spoon up and rinsed it slowly. "She hasn't been sleeping great. The last couple weeks."
I waited. The faucet dripped.
"Nightmares," she said finally. Quiet. "She wakes up crying. Then she won't go back in her own bed. She ends up in with us half the night, clutching my shirt like she's afraid I'm going to leave."
My chest tightened. I folded the towel over in my hands to keep them still.
"Every night?" I asked.
"Most nights." She glanced toward the doorway, then back at the sink. "And clingy during the day. Won't let me out of her sight at the grocery store. Her teacher said she cried at drop-off twice last week, which she hasn't done since preschool started."
I nodded like that was normal information to take in. "That sounds rough. For both of you."
"Yeah." She pushed a strand of hair back with her wrist. "I told Mark it's probably just the holidays. Too much sugar, too much excitement, the school Christmas program. Kids pick up on stress."
I picked up another plate to dry even though it was already dry. "Mark stressed about work?"
"He's been... a lot." She hesitated, choosing words. "Year-end stuff. He's on edge when he gets home. Short temper. Then he feels bad about it. You know how he is."
I knew how he was when we were kids. I didn't know how he was as a father at ten o'clock on a Tuesday when no one was watching. I wanted to ask, but I could see the wall coming up in her face before I even opened my mouth.
"He's not cruel, Caleb," she said quickly. "He loves her. He's just stretched thin. He yells sometimes and then he hates himself for it. I told him he has to be more patient, and he's trying."
"I know he loves her," I said. And I meant it. That was what made this so hard to hold.
She looked at me then, really looked. "Did she say something to you? Out there in the hall?"
My throat went dry. Maya's whisper was still right against my ear, small and hot. I could feel Sarah waiting for me to hand it over.
"She just wanted her uncle for a minute," I said. "Christmas craziness. She asked if I'd hang out with her."
It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't the whole truth either. Sarah studied me for a second, then nodded and turned back to the dishes like she wanted to believe me.
I set the dry plate down and tried to sound casual. "Would it help if I took her out tomorrow? Just for a couple hours. Get her out of the house, burn off some energy. Hot chocolate, drive around look at lights. Give you and Mark some quiet to clean up and rest."
Sarah frowned. "Tomorrow's crazy. Mark's brother is coming by, and we have to—"
"I can work around it," I said. "Day after Christmas. Morning. Just me and her. She'd like that. I would too."
She rinsed her hands and dried them on a towel, thinking. The kitchen timer ticked on the stove. From the dining room, I heard Maya's little laugh, high and brief, then Mark saying something low I couldn't catch.
"She does light up around you," Sarah said. "She was asking last week when Uncle Caleb was coming."
"So that's a yes?"
She sighed, and the tension in her shoulders dropped a fraction. "Yeah. Okay. Yes. Take her. Maybe she'll actually nap after. Just... have her back by lunch? Mark gets weird if plans change without him knowing."
"I'll have her back by lunch," I said. "Promise."
May you like
She gave me a tired, grateful look and squeezed my forearm once before she turned to start wrapping leftovers. I stood there with the dish towel in my hands, listening to the plastic wrap pull and tear, and felt both relieved and sick. I had what I came for. A morning with Maya, away from the house.
Now I had to figure out what to ask her when I got it.
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