“You don’t have anything to apologize for. Is there anything you need me to get you?”
What special things do girls need for their hair?
“Um…maybe a good leave-in conditioner.”
“Okay. And you can always ask me for something if you need it. I’m not used to this, so I won’t know if you don’t tell me.”
Sadie nods, then goes back to her drawing.
As I season and tenderize the chicken, I feel her gaze on me from time to time. She watches me while I start the roasted potatoes, put the chicken on the stove, and as I wash and cut broccoli. I should probably say something to her, but I don’t know what. It’s different speaking to students in my classes because they’re older and, well, they aren’t a sibling I’m still trying to adjust to having. Still, I try to rack my brain for something to talk to her about, but I realize I know nothing about her.
“How’s school?”
Sadie shrugs. “Okay.”
“Have you made any friends?”
“No.” She doesn’t look up from her art, which then reminds me I do know something about her.
“It’ll happen. It just takes some time.” But the truth is, it doesn’t always happen. I didn’t have friends when I was her age, not when I was Nash’s age either, and as I stand there watching her, I realize how much I don’t want that fate for them. “Maybe we can bring something nice for the class. Cupcakes?” Are they allowed to do that? Will that make the other kids like her?
“You don’t have to do that,” she says, working on leaves in a tree. “But thank you,” she says softer.
“You’re welcome. Let me know if you change your mind.”She nods but doesn’t reply, and I try to think of what else to tell her, wanting to do the best I can in this moment because for the first time, it feels like I’m not screwing up with them. “You’re very good at drawing. Maybe we can find you an art class.”
Sadie’s head snaps up, her eyes wide, the only burst of excitement I’ve ever seen there, before they dim again. “It’s too much. You don’t have to.”
“I know, but I’d like to.”
“It’s okay. Thank you.” She looks behind her at her brother, who has earbuds in and isn’t paying attention to us. “Nash likes basketball.”
Well, that’s good to know. I’d begun to think he didn’t like anything except Sadie.
“He wanted to play on the team last year, but he couldn’t.”
Basketball. Okay. I can handle that. I don’t know anything about the game myself, but I can figure out basketball.
It takes me a moment to realize what this little girl is doing, that she’s trying to find a way for me to do something nice for Nash because she cares about him and wants something nice for him, but also, maybe so Nash and I find a way to connect too.
“Thank you, Sadie. I appreciate your help. As I said before, I’m not very good at this.”
“You do more for us than she did.”
Her words hit me square in the chest, punch right through and rip the air from my lungs. Why did she have us if she couldn’t love us? Why was she as bad to them as she was to me?
Before I have the chance to say anything else—though what I would say, I don’t know—Nash walks over. “What are you working on, Sades?”
“A park with lots of trees.”
“What else are you going to put in it?”
The two of them lose themselves in a discussion there, sister sharing with her brother all the things she plans to draw. He listens to her, asks questions, engaged with her as though he’s her father, and honestly, in all the ways that count, he is. Nash has spent eleven years taking responsibility for Sadie because Sandra couldn’t be bothered with them and I wasn’t there.
I step away, flipping the chicken, then checking on the potatoes.
Sadie and Nash eat at the counter together while I sit at the kitchen table. Nash helps her with her homework while I do dishes, and then they disappear to their room, leaving me alone.
I straighten up the couch, the cushions out of place from Nash sitting there, then lock up, turn out the lights, and close my bedroom door behind me.
