1
LILY
The toaster emits a death rattle and spews a plume of smoke while the morning news hums chipper lies about the day’s “upward momentum.” It’s Tuesday, smack in the middle of a heatwave that’s turned Los Angeles into a convection oven. No one is moving up here, only the temperatures.
I lunge to yank the plug from the wall, startling when Penny yells behind me.
“Mom! I can’t find my gym shirt!” My daughter’s voice ricochets down the hallway, pitched at a decibel level perfect for shattering what remains of my early morning sanity.
“Check your drawer!” I shout back, fanning the smoke with a dish towel and scraping the charred remnants of wheat bread into the trash. I open the window to let the burning smell out before the smoke detectors activate and sprinkle more misery on me.
“It’s not there!” Penny shouts. The frustration in her voice suggests I’ve hidden her gym shirt in some diabolical plan to ruin her life.
I abandon the toaster crime scene and stride down the hall to her room, where my daughter is standing in front of her open dresser, wearing her gym shirt inside out with the tag peeking out at the back.
“Penny.” I point to her chest. “You have it on.”
She looks down, brows knitting together in confusion before the realization hits. “Oh.” Her hazel eyes, mirrors of mine, squint at me without an ounce of embarrassment. “Well, you could have just said that.”
I blink at her. “Right. My bad. I should have noticed you were wearing your shirt before you did.”
“Exactly.” She nods with complete seriousness. “And my hair’s weird.”
I glance at the clock—7.22a.m.—and then at Penny’s honey-blonde curls, a tangled mass so wild it looks like a family of industrious sparrows left mid-nesting.
“If you want neat hair in the morning, let me braid it at night.” I grab the hairbrush on her nightstand.
Penny narrows her eyes as I approach and backs away like I’m wielding a chainsaw.
“Sweetie, we don’t have time for?—”
“You always pull too hard.”
“I don’t.”
“Daddy never pulled.” Her voice drops to a mumble that hits me square in the chest.
I lower the brush, my throat tight. Daniel was the hair whisperer. He could detangle even the most stubborn knots without a single complaint. One of his many superpowers I can’t replicate.
“How about a ponytail?” I offer. “Quick and easy.”
She considers the proposal with the gravity of a Supreme Court justice before nodding once. “Fine. But not too tight.”
Crisis averted, I tame her curls while she fidgets and provides a running commentary on how her teacher warned too-snug ponytails cause headaches and brain damage. I’m pretty sure Ms. Meyers said no such thing, but I don’t have time to dispute fake neurological facts.
Back in the kitchen, I discover the coffee machine gurgling pathetically, a dry wheezing sound that can only mean I forgot to fill the tank.
I pick up the empty water reservoir. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
The blinking red light mocks me as if to say,You thought you’d get caffeine today? That’s adorable.
I fill it, knowing full well that the coffee won’t be ready before we need to leave. But at least the same won’t happen tomorrow.
“MOM!” Penny’s shriek from the living room has me nearly splashing myself. “Something exploded in my backpack!”
I close my eyes and count to three, which is two more counts than I have. When I round the corner, Penny is holding her backpack, showing how yesterday’s forgotten chocolate bar has melted, staining her homework and the inside of the bag with brown goop that looks like a different substance but smells better.
“I think it’s still good,” Penny says, poking at a glob with her finger.
