Chapter 2
The phone was already warm in my hand. I hadn't dialed. I hadn't even unlocked it. My thumb rested on the dark screen and I could hear my own breathing, too loud in my ears, while the soup cooled against my sweater and soaked deeper into the knit.
Helen didn't move from behind my chair. Her hand wasn't on my shoulder anymore but I could feel where it had been, the pressure still there, and I could see her pearl necklace catching the light from the Christmas tree. The bokeh from those lights blurred across the dining room wall behind her.
"Well?" Helen said. Her voice dropped, almost calm. "Are you going to stare at that thing all night or are you going to be dramatic on speaker so Lily can hear?"
I didn't answer. I didn't put the phone down either. The bowl in front of me was still there, half empty, a thin skin forming on the orange soup where it had started to cool. The placemat was wet where soup had slopped over. Lily hadn't moved. She sat two seats down in her red top, both hands flat on the edge of the table, staring at the stain spreading across my chest. Her mouth was pressed shut.
Daniel finally looked at me, then away again. He kept his hands on the table, fingers laced, like he was holding himself still.
"Sarah," he said, quiet. "Come on. Put the phone away. It was an accident."
It wasn't. We both knew what had happened. Helen had stood, she'd grabbed my arm when I'd tried to pull Lily back, she'd jerked and the bowl had gone with her hand and the soup had gone straight down the front of my white sweater. It had been hot. It was still warm now, turning tacky as it cooled, and the yellow-orange was bleeding out wider at the edges.
Helen heard him and nodded once, like he'd given her a cue.
"That's exactly what I'm saying," she said. "You leaned over her. You provoked her. You startled me when you grabbed Lily like that. Of course the bowl tipped. You can't go throwing around accusations when you caused it yourself."
Daniel nodded again, too quickly. "She didn't mean to spill it, Sarah. You shouldn't have provoked her."
The words landed exactly the way they had a minute before, only softer this time, like he was trying to make them sound reasonable. I felt my throat tighten. I didn't argue. I just breathed in through my nose and let it out slow, and I kept my phone gripped tight enough that my knuckles went white.
Lily made a small sound. Not crying. Just a breath that hitched. I looked at her and her eyes were huge, fixed on Helen.
I pushed my chair back. The legs scraped against the wood floor. Helen took half a step back but didn't leave the space behind me, and Daniel didn't get up.
"Come here, baby," I said to Lily. My voice was low and it cracked a little at the end. I didn't look at Helen when I said it.
I walked around the table to Lily and lifted her out of her chair. She was light but she clung to me, her arms around my neck, her red sleeve brushing against the wet edge of my sweater. She didn't touch the stain. She turned her face into my shoulder.
I carried her the six steps to the kitchen sink, which was just around the corner from the dining room. The same warm yellow light was in there, overhead, and the same Christmas tree glow reflected in the window over the sink. I could still see Daniel and Helen at the table from where I stood. Neither of them followed. Dinner just sat there, abandoned. Three bowls on woven placemats, one of them smeared, soup getting cold.
I turned on the warm water and held Lily's hands under it. Hers were sticky with soup where she'd touched the placemat. I pumped soap from the bottle by the faucet and worked it gently between her small fingers. My sweater hung heavy and damp against my stomach, the stain darkening as it dried and then staying wet in the middle. It smelled like onions and butter and salt.
"You okay?" I whispered to her, close to her ear so only she could hear.
She nodded against me and didn't let go.
Behind me, I heard Helen sigh loudly, like she was the one being patient. I heard a chair creak as Daniel shifted his weight, but he stayed where he was, at the table with his mother. He didn't come to the sink. He didn't bring a towel for my sweater. He just sat there in his dark suit with his hands still clasped, looking down at the soup in front of him.
May you like
I turned off the water and dried Lily's hands with the dish towel, one finger at a time. I kept my phone tucked between my hip and the counter so I wouldn't have to put it down. The screen stayed dark. I wasn't calling. Not yet. But I wasn't putting it away either.
Lily and I stayed in that kitchen, side by side against the counter, while the dining room stayed split in two.
