“This is delicious,” she says, taking a bite of the muffin.
I fold my arms across my chest and lean against the counter.
“Would you like to take some for Hope tomorrow?”
“She loves chocolate.”
“I can make chocolate chip cookies.”
“Sure—”
“We can start now.”
Before I can say another word, she starts gathering stuff and I rush to her and stop her.
“You need to sleep,” I tell her.
“But I’m not tired.”
“It doesn’t matter. Just go to your room and lie down.”
She nods. “Let me clean up.”
“I’ll do it.”
Despite me asking her to leave, she stays and eats her muffins while I clean up.
We don’t talk but the tension isn’t there. For years, we’ve walked on thin ice that shattered whenever we talked. We didn’t have a common ground, a place to stand on and get to know each other. They’re my parents but we stand so far apart that it seems impossible to erase this distance between us.
But tonight wasn’t as awful as I thought it’d be.
It was nice talking to mom.
I can’t fucking believe I’m saying that.
“Would you mind if I talk to her if I see her again?” Mom asks.
I glance at her from the sink where I’m drying the bowls.
“Don’t pester her. She is shy,” I say, then quickly add, “Also, don’t say anything that will hurt her. Just keep it to yourself.”
Horror flashes across her face. “I would never do that.” She sounds sincere.
Before I can say a word, Dad enters the room and his eyes go to Mom then me.
In a cautious tone he asks, “Everything good?”
“Yes,” I say.
Mom beams at him. “We were getting along.”
Dad watches her face and his features soften. “Have you eaten?”
She nods. “I ate six muffins and now I might be on a sugar rush.”
He smirks. “Don’t worry, I’ll tire you down.”
I make a gag noise and both of them look at me. “Get a fucking room.”
