Chapter 4 - Milk and Bread in the Kitchen
I didn't answer Vanessa. I didn't look at Mason either. I just shifted my weight and stood up with Lily still against me, her legs dangling and then locking around my side like she was afraid I'd put her down and leave her there.
The placemats were still on the table. The glass near the center hadn't moved. The warm light from over the table made everything look normal if you didn't hear the breathing.
"Come on, baby," I said. "Let's get you something."
Vanessa stepped half a step to the side but didn't move out of the way. "She already ate," she said again, quieter this time. "She is just being difficult."
I heard Mason's chair creak behind me. I didn't turn around. I carried Lily the six steps from the dining room into the kitchen.
Our kitchen opens right off the dining room, no door between, just a wide cased opening. The light in there is whiter, the one over the sink we always left on too long. I could feel Lily's cheek wet against my polo shirt and her ponytail stuck to her neck.
I set her on the counter next to the sink, where she could sit with her back against the cabinet. She grabbed a fistful of my shirt at the chest and wouldn't let go. Her floral dress had ridden up on one side and I smoothed it down without thinking.
"What do you want?" I asked her. "Milk? Bread?"
She nodded fast, her chin trembling. "Milk," she whispered.
I got the gallon out of the fridge with one hand because she wouldn't let go with the other. I poured half a plastic cup, the small blue one with the chipped rim, and handed it to her with both hands around it so she wouldn't drop it. She drank like she'd been running.
Easy. I put my hand lightly on the cup. "Easy, slow down. It's not going anywhere."
She stopped, breathed through her nose, then drank again, slower. Milk ran down her chin and I wiped it with my thumb. Behind me I heard Vanessa's shoes on the tile.
I pulled two slices of white bread from the bag on the counter, tore one in half so it wouldn't be so big in her hands. Lily took it and ate the first half in three bites, crumbs falling on her dress and on my arm. Then on the second half she slowed. She chewed. She looked at me to check if I was still watching.
"You okay?" I asked.
She nodded and leaned forward until her forehead touched my shoulder. Her whole body eased a little, but her fingers stayed twisted in my shirt. The bread softened in her hand where the milk had wet her fingers.
Vanessa stood in the opening between the rooms. I could see her in the edge of my vision, arms crossed, then uncrossed. Her gray button shirt was wrinkled at the elbows from where she'd had her hands clasped at the table.
"You're undermining me," she said. Her voice was low so the kids wouldn't hear it all. "Right in front of them."
I kept one hand on Lily's back, feeling her breathe. "She said she was hungry."
"She already ate. You don't know what the afternoon was like."
"I know she hasn't got a plate in there," I said. I tried to keep my voice even. "Mason's got food. I don't. There's no plate for her."
Vanessa glanced back toward the dining room, where Mason was still sitting alone at that dark wood table. I could hear the quiet, no fork, no chair moving.
"Because she wouldn't sit and eat like she was supposed to," Vanessa said. "There's a rule. If you just feed her in here, the rule doesn't mean anything."
Lily stopped chewing. I felt it through my hand. She pressed closer, her milk cup tipping a little. I straightened it.
"Hey," I said to her, soft. "You're doing good. Finish your bread."
She took another small bite. Slower now. She held the crust out to me like she wanted me to take it, then pulled it back and ate the edge herself. That tiny back-and-forth loosened something in my chest.
Vanessa stepped closer to the counter. "So that's it? I make a rule and you break it the first time she cries?"
I looked at her then. Her blonde hair was pulled back tight and a few strands had come loose around her ears. She didn't look angry so much as cornered.
"I'm not trying to fight you," I said. "I'm giving my daughter milk and bread because she's crying and saying she's hungry in our kitchen. We can talk about the rule. But not while she's shaking."
Vanessa's mouth opened, then closed. She looked at Lily clinging to my shirt, at the empty cup, at the crumbs. For a second her eyes went to Lily's hands, the way they held on.
"Fine," she said. "But don't tell Mason he was right to say that in front of everybody."
From the dining room came a small sound, a chair leg scraping once on the wood floor. Mason hadn't followed us. He was still out there by himself with the sheer curtains behind him and the plates going cold.
Lily finished the bread and set the cup down carefully on the counter like it mattered. She put both hands back on my shirt and rested her head in the space under my chin. Her breathing was still hitched, but slower.
I picked her up again, cup and crumbs and all, and turned to face Vanessa in that narrow kitchen light.
May you like
"We'll finish dinner," I said. "Together."
Vanessa didn't move, and she didn't agree. She just stood there looking at us, the rule hanging right between us in the open.
