He pressed one more kiss to my forehead, lingering there for a moment, before reluctantly releasing me. I turned toward the door, my cheeks warm and my pulse racing. I caught Mei's expression out of the corner of my eye as I reached for the handle. She was watching us with a small, knowing smile—pleased, almost smug, like she'd just witnessed exactly what she'd hoped to see.
I ducked my head and hurried out before she could say anything.
The walk to the guest house was mostly uneventful, save for the people I passed, still dressed in mourning clothes, faces shuttered with sadness. The house felt too quiet when I arrived, almost eerily so.
I stood in the entryway for a long moment, just listening—the hum of the refrigerator, the distant creak of old floorboards settling, the whistle of wind through a crack somewhere. The silence pressed against my ears, making me hyperaware of every sound, or lack thereof.
I kicked off my shoes, leaving them by the door, and wandered through the living room, then the kitchen, my fingers trailing along the countertop. Everything was exactly as we'd left it this morning. Dishes in the drainer, a book on the coffee table, Teddy's drawing supplies scattered across the dining table. But it felt different somehow. Empty. Hollow.
Restless energy buzzed under my skin, making it impossible to sit still.
I started cleaning. Wiping down counters that were already clean, reorganizing the spice rack alphabetically, scrubbing at a stubborn spot on the stove that had been there for months and probably wasn't coming off without serious chemical intervention. When that wasn't enough to quiet mymind, I pulled out ingredients for spaghetti, needing something to do with my hands.
I chopped onions and garlic, the rhythmic motion of the knife against the cutting board soothing. The sauce bubbled on the stove—red, thanks to Buck’s tomatoes—filling the kitchen with a rich, comforting scent. I stirred it absently, watching the bubbles break the surface, my mind wandering back to Cristox. The way he'd kissed me, the promise in his voice, the word home echoing in my head.
What did that mean? What did any of this mean? Was he planning to stay? Could he stay? Did he want to?
The front door banged open suddenly, and I jumped, nearly dropping the wooden spoon into the sauce.
"Mama! I'm home!" Teddy's voice rang through the house, bright and full of energy. The grief of the funeral was apparently, thankfully, forgotten in the joy of ice cream and friends.
I set the spoon down and turned as he came barreling into the kitchen, his mane windswept and sticking up in all directions, his cheeks flushed pink from playing outside.
"Hey, buddy," I said, forcing a smile that felt more natural than I expected. "How was ice cream?"
"Good! We had cookies too, and Mr. Bartholomeus let us play in the park and—" He stopped mid-sentence, his eyes scanning the kitchen, the living room visible beyond, searching. "Where's Uncle Cristox?"
My stomach tightened. "He's, um... he had to stay in town for a bit to help Mei with something important."
Teddy's face fell dramatically, his whole body seeming to deflate. "But he's coming back, right?"
"Of course he is," I said quickly, perhaps too quickly. "He'll be home later."
"How much later?"
"I don't know, sweetheart. But he'll be here. I promise." My son felt the same way I did about Cristox leaving and knew, as I did, that the two weeks we'd been given were already up. I gestured toward the stove, trying to distract him. "I made spaghetti. Your favorite."
That perked him up a little, though I could still see the disappointment lingering in his eyes. We ate together at the kitchen table, Teddy chattering about his outing—the flavors of ice cream, the games they'd played, something funny Lingse said, while I tried to focus on his words instead of the knot of anxiety tightening in my chest.
After dinner, I got him ready for bed. Teeth brushed thoroughly, pajamas on, his favorite stuffed bear tucked under his arm. But when I tried to tuck him in, smoothing the blankets around him, he sat up abruptly, his expression stubborn and determined.
"I want to wait for Cristox," he said, his jaw set in a way that reminded me painfully of his father.
"Teddy, it's late—"
"Please, Mama? I just want to say goodnight. I won't stay up long, I promise."
I sighed, sitting down on the edge of his bed. "He might be really late, buddy. You need your sleep."
Teddy's lower lip jutted out in a pout, and he hugged his bear tighter. "But what if he doesn't come back?"
My heart clenched. "He will. I promise."
"You promise promise?"
"I promise promise." I held up my pinky, and he hooked his with mine, sealing the vow.
He seemed to consider this, his brow furrowing thoughtfully, then looked up at me with those big, earnest eyes. "Mama?"
