Chapter 5 - The Hallway Light We Left On
I told them teeth first, even though neither of them had finished chewing the last bite in their heads yet. It wasn't really about teeth. I needed to move us out of that kitchen.
Lily was still holding half the banana in her fist like she didn't want to let it go. The peanut butter was on the corner of her mouth. She looked calmer, but her breathing was still doing that little catch kids do after they cry hard. Mason had his empty glass in both hands and carried it to the sink without me asking, careful not to clank it.
"Leave the dishes," I said, low. The dark wood table was still covered behind us. I could feel Vanessa standing there without looking. "We'll get them."
I guided them toward the hall with a hand on each back. The hallway light was that warm yellow we always left on at night. It buzzed faint. The bathroom tile was cold under my socks. I turned the water on and tested it with my wrist the way I'd done since they were toddlers.
Mason went first. He spit, rinsed, wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his dark t-shirt and then remembered to use the towel. Lily stood on the little step stool and watched the water run. She still had the banana.
"You can finish that bite, honey, then we brush," I said.
She took a tiny bite and chewed slow. When she spit into the sink, a smear of peanut butter went with the toothpaste. I wiped it with a washcloth and she leaned into my hand without thinking. Her ponytail had come loose on one side, brown hair sticking to her damp cheek. Her floral dress was wrinkled from sitting.
"You want PJs or that dress for a little longer?" I asked.
"PJs," she whispered.
I helped her change in her room while Mason waited in the doorway. Her room smelled like crayons and laundry. The sheer white curtains from the dining room weren't here, but she had those little star night-lights plugged in by the bed. I pulled her sleep shirt over her head gently so I wouldn't tug her hair.
Mason's room was across the hall. Same hallway, same pictures we'd hung crooked two years ago and never fixed. He was already pulling his covers back when I came in. He sat on the edge of the bed and picked at a thread on his blanket.
"Dad," he said, quiet. "Am I in trouble for what I said?"
My chest tightened. I knelt so I wasn't towering over him. Same position I'd been in at the table, but this time just us.
"No," I said. "You told the truth. That's not trouble."
He looked down at his hands, then up at me. "Mom said not to start stuff at dinner."
"You're not starting stuff. I asked, you answered. That's on me, okay?"
He nodded, but he didn't fully believe it yet. I could see him running the math kids run, trying to figure out which parent's rule would win. I put my hand on his shoulder and left it there until his breathing slowed.
"Brush is done. You're good. Climb in."
He climbed in and I pulled the blanket up to his chin. He liked it tucked tight around his feet. I'd learned that when he was four and had nightmares about falling. I tucked it twice.
"I'll be back after I get Lily down," I said.
"Leave the hall light on?" he asked.
"Yeah. It's on."
Lily was sitting up in bed waiting, hands folded on top of her blanket. The banana was gone — she'd left it on her nightstand with one bite left, like she was saving it. I sat on the edge of her mattress and it dipped under me.
I read the short book because that was the routine and routine was the only safe thing I had to offer. My voice sounded normal, which surprised me. She turned the pages for me even though she couldn't read all the words yet. When we finished, I closed it and set it on the floor.
She didn't lie down right away. She stared at the star light.
"Daddy," she said.
"Yeah, baby."
She twisted the blanket in her fingers. Her voice went so low I had to lean in. The faucet dripped once in the bathroom down the hall.
"I was bad at snack time."
The words hung there. I didn't move. I could hear Mason shifting in his bed across the hall, the springs creaking.
"What happened at snack time?" I asked, keeping it even.
She swallowed. "I took something."
I waited. I didn't want to pull it out of her. My hand was on the blanket near hers, not touching, so she could reach if she wanted.
"What did you take, Lily?"
She shook her head fast, eyes filling again. "Mom said I can't just take."
"Okay," I said. "Okay. You're not in trouble with me right now. I'm just listening."
She looked at the leftover banana like she felt guilty for wanting it. Then she whispered, "I was hungry."
That was it. That was all she'd give me. She lay down on her side and curled her knees up. I pulled the blanket over her shoulder and smoothed her ponytail back. Her cheek was still a little sticky from the peanut butter no matter how much I'd wiped.
"Here's what's going to happen," I said, quiet. "You're going to sleep. And in the morning, I will make you breakfast. I promise. You won't have to ask extra. I'll just make it."
"Really?" she said.
"Really. Pancakes or eggs. You pick when you wake up."
She thought about it, serious as a judge at five years old. "Pancakes."
"Pancakes," I said. "Deal."
She reached out and I took her small hand in mine. My wedding ring was cold against her fingers. We stayed like that until her eyelids got heavy.
Across the hall, Mason called out, soft, "Dad?"
I squeezed Lily's hand once, stood, and went to his doorway. He was still awake, staring at the ceiling with the hallway light spilling across his face.
"You good?" I asked.
He nodded. Then, after a second, "Dad, Lily didn't mean it."
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"I know," I said. "Get some sleep, buddy."
I stood in that hallway between their two open doors for a moment, listening to them breathe. The house was too quiet behind me. The dishes were still on that dark wood table, the glass still sitting there. Vanessa was still down there waiting. I left both bedroom doors cracked and the hall light on, the way Mason liked, and I didn't go back to the kitchen yet.
