Mehki groaned. “Do we have to? I hate pizza.”
“You just ate pizza last week?”
“Well, I don’t like it anymore.”
I picked a piece of lint off of my sweater. “I don’t believe you.”
“Can we have a real dinner?” He glanced up at me. “I would like chicken and rice.”
My shoulders fell. “Mehki, I can’t cook here.”
My son was spoiled. He hated eating out. What six-year old hated McDonalds? Mehki Landon Crawford, that’s who. “How about Wendy’s? You can get chicken nuggets.”
He made a disgusted face. “We had Wendy’s on the way here.”
Shit, he’s right. I’d stopped at the restaurant right before we hit the road for the hours-long drive here from Charleston. “Jimmy Johns?” I asked, desperate for a solution that didn’t involve a trip to the grocery store.
Mehki let out an exaggerated groan. “No.”
“Krispy Kreme?” Donuts for dinner sounded good. I was due for a cheat day.
Shaking his head rapidly, he said, “Mommie?”
Oh Lord. When he said my name in that high-pitched voice and looked at me with those puppy dog eyes, I was toast. “Yes?”
“How about we have tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches?”
His favorite. And it still involved a trip to the grocery store. “How about we have that for lunch tomorrow after I’ve had time to go to the store. For now, let’s pick something quick. If you don’t pick, I will.”
He hummed, tapping his little chin with his finger. “Orange chicken and rice.”
“Great,” I chirped. “Panda Express is down the street. We can walk there and grab dinner.”
“I’m thirsty.”
I dug into my bag and pulled out a bottle of water, handing it to him. “Drink this. I’m going to head into the kitchen and get started.”
“And I’m going to play this game,” he announced, turning his attention back to his tablet.
Good. I grabbed the bag full of cleaning supplies I’d brought with me and walked into the kitchen. Spinning around, I took in all of the cabinet space, the wallpaper, the older appliances, and the table by the large window where Aunt Lou used to read the newspaper. It looked just like I remembered. Yellow walls, hardwood floors, frilly curtains. Aunt Lou sure hated modern décor. Her room was probably still pink and lacy. I made a mental note to call Tierra, my best friend. She was an interior designer and a realtor in Charleston. I definitely needed her guidance if I was going to put the house on the market.
Aside from the dust, the kitchen was pretty neat. No dirty dishes in the sink, nothing out of place. I knew Aunt Lou once had a housekeeper, but it was obvious the woman hadn’t been there in a long time. Maybe she grew tired of paying for the service? Shrugging, I opened cabinets, mentally taking inventory of what was there. Luckily, the refrigerator was empty save for a few water bottles and bottle of salad dressing. The dishwasher only had one glass inside. Once I was satisfied that nothing nasty would jump out at me, I pulled out bowls for the Clorox and the Pine Sol. Disinfecting surfaces was first up.
After realizing I’d forgotten the cleaning rags I’d purchased, I pulled out several drawers and eventually located a few clean dish towels. “Yes!” I cheered. To myself. Because no one was there. “Now, if I could snap my fingers and everything would be done. I wonder if I… And apparently, I love talking to the air.”
Laughing at myself, I turned the faucet. Nothing. I twisted the other knob. Nothing. I bent to open the cabinet under the sink, like I actually knew what I was doing. I noticed a jar with a wrench and some other tool inside. Standing, I tried again. This time, everything came out.
“Oh shit!” I shouted.
Water sprayed everywhere—on the window, on the floor, in my face, on my brand knew sweater, in my hair. It was no longer a faucet; it was a fountain.Damnit. My wash-and-go was definitely ruined because I was soaked.
“Shit! Shit! Shit!” I probably said that word fifty times in under one minute, each in a different tone and decibel. After several tries with my slippery hands, I turned the water off.
“Mommie?”
I jumped, holding my chest. “You scared me.”
“You cussed. You told me that shit was a bad word.” I rushed over to him and clasped my hand over his mouth. He cringed, backing away from me. He wiped his mouth. “Yuck! You got me wet, Mommie.”
