Chapter 2 - I Didn't Drink It
Claire was still holding the glass at chest height. She hadn't moved since Sophie whispered. Her smile was fixed, not wide, just the corners turned up like she was posing for a photo, and her right hand was steady around that clear glass of orange juice. The light from the kitchen window hit it and made the liquid look thick, opaque.
Sophie's arms were locked around my neck. Her cheek was pressed hard against my shoulder and I could feel her breath, quick and shallow, against my collar. She'd said it so quietly I almost wasn't sure I'd heard it right, but the way she was holding on told me I had.
I didn't drink.
I made myself loosen my own shoulders. I shifted Sophie a little higher on my hip so I could use both hands.
"Thank you," I said to Claire. My voice came out even. "I'll set it right here for a second. My hands are full."
I stepped forward the two steps to the kitchen counter. The white cabinets were bright in that morning light and the wood floor creaked under me. Claire didn't step back, but she didn't come forward either. She held the glass out as I approached, and for a second we both had it.
Her fingers tightened before she let go. I felt it through the glass — a small, hard squeeze, knuckles paling just a fraction. Then a pause. Half a second too long where she looked at my face instead of the glass, her smile never dropping.
"Of course," she said finally, soft. "It's very good for your health."
That line landed exactly the way she'd said it a minute before. Same calm tone, like she was offering a vitamin. I kept my eyes on the glass.
I took it carefully by the base and set it down on the counter next to the sink, untouched. Not a sip, not a spill. I placed it far enough from the edge that Sophie couldn't knock it if she swung her legs. The condensation had already left a faint wet ring on the laminate where Claire's hand had been holding it.
Sophie's grip loosened a little once the glass was out of Claire's hand. Not much. Her fingers uncurled from the back of my shirt, then curled again, lighter. She was still pressed to me, but I could hear her breathing now, audible and uneven, slowing down in that way kids do when they're trying not to cry.
"You good, bug?" I whispered against her hair. She nodded against my shoulder, just a tiny jerk.
Claire watched the glass. She didn't look at me or Sophie for a beat. Her hands were now empty and she folded them together in front of her cardigan, then unfolded them, then rested one on the counter not far from where I'd set the juice down. The gray cardigan was open over her white top, her teal pants a little wrinkled at the knee. She looked tidy and calm except for her hands. They kept moving.
Her suitcase was still right where it had been, up against the lower cabinets. Dark, rolling, handle fully extended up to waist height, like she'd just come in or was about to leave and hadn't decided. The zipper was half open and I could see the corner of something folded inside, but I didn't look straight at it.
"She's clingy this morning," Claire said, with a little laugh that didn't have anything behind it. Her smile flicked wider, then back to that fixed line. "Did she sleep okay?"
"She got up early," I said. I kept my hand on Sophie's back, rubbing a slow circle. I didn't step closer to Claire. I stepped slightly sideways, putting the corner of the counter between her and Sophie, keeping Sophie's body turned away. "I think she had a bad dream."
Claire nodded. "That would make sense." She glanced at the glass again. The orange juice sat perfectly still, no pulp swirling, the surface catching the overhead light. "You should try it while it's cold."
"I will in a minute," I said. "Let me get her settled first."
That was the whole choice I had in me right then. Don't accuse. Don't drink. Don't pour it out and start a fight I couldn't prove. Just put it down and keep my daughter between me and the counter. Sophie's breathing evened a little more against my neck, but she didn't lift her head. Her legs were wrapped around my waist and her pink pajamas, those small dark patterns I could feel under my palm, were warm from sleep.
May you like
Claire's eyes went from the glass to Sophie, to me, and back to the glass. She didn't touch it again. She just stood there, hands clasped now, watching it sit on the counter while the kitchen stayed bright and quiet except for the refrigerator humming.
I didn't pick it back up.
