“Go help,” she mouths, nodding toward the kitchen where Maureen’s already disappeared.
I kiss her temple and rise.
“Aye. I’ll do the dishes.” I grab what I can from our end of the table.
When I nudge the door open to the kitchen, Maureen looks up at me with a knowingsmile.
“Thought you might offer.” She nods her head toward the dish towel. “Come on, then.”
The kitchen is warm with steam and the low hiss of water running into the basin. I set the bowls beside her and start scraping plates while she rinses and stacks.
For a while, we move in rhythm, her washing, me drying. The window overlooking the back yard fogs slightly from the heat.
After a few minutes, Maureen speaks. “Any change with your parents?”
I keep my eyes on the plate in my hands. “No.”
“They haven’t asked about the girls?”
“No.” I pause. “They haven’t asked about any of us.”
She nods and passes me another plate. “Ah.”
I dry in silence. She and I have never had this conversation before.
“The last time we saw them, Avonna was pregnant.” I turn to her. “Now, we send letters. Photos. So they know our girls are healthy and loved. Keep things positive.”
She lets out a soft sound, not pity or disapproval. More like presence.
“Instead of a response, Mum sent a clipping from some Catholic newspaper. Highlighted the bit about eternal damnation.” I shake my head. “Said she’d failed me.”
Maureen’s hands still in the water, then she dries them, sets the towel aside, and turns to face me.
“You’re a good man, Linus. A beautiful father. A loyal partner.”
“They don’t see it.”
She doesn’t flinch. “They never looked.”
I grip the edge of the sink, steadying myself.
“They’re missin’ everything.” Maureen shakes her head.
I nod once, I can’t speak.
“We didn’t raise you,” she peers over at me, “but you’re ours now. You, Avonna, Liam, the girls. We love you all.”
My eyes sting. I mop the towel on my face. “Thanks, Ma.”
“You don’t have to pretend here.” She squeezes my arm.
I nod again. Unable to react.
“I know it’s not the same,” she continues. “I know a part of you still wants their approval. Remember, you’ve built something stronger than they ever dreamed.”
I think of the rings we wear. The quiet promise we made to raise our daughters in a home filled with truth. “We have.”
“You’re doin’ it.” She pats my hand. “Now. Help me with the puddin’.”
