I pressed the phone against my stomach and pulled my hand free.
“That won’t work, sweetie,” I whispered. “Later, remember?”
With a scowl, she took the phone and was doing a fair job of sounding normal as I reentered the house. Sal was waiting at the counter with the box of bandages.
“I don’t suppose the coffee fairy’s shown up yet, has she?”
He grinned and picked up the pot he’d placed near the sink. “I thought Eileen might enjoy seeing this, but your need is greater.” He pointed one finger and touched the bottom of the pot. As I came closer, steam rose, and then I heard the unmistakable sound of bubbling. Before I could even reach his side, he was pouring boiling water into my French press.
“Oh, God, you’re handy,” I groaned. He turned crimson, and a second later, I’m pretty sure I was a matching shade of red. Looking anywhere but at him, my eyes fell on the box of bandages.
“Allow me to help,” he offered. “Your adam is quite protective.”
He pulled off a wrapper and waited for me to hold out a hand. “I expect he will try to give you a weapon the next time he sees you.” He smiled as he positioned the bandage.
“What are you talking about? And he’s not my Adam, stop saying that.”
“I would. In his situation.” He gestured for my other hand. “Cutting carrots? Not your best lie. When you come back with a duffel bag, I promise not to look.”
My mouth fell open just as Eileen dashed back inside.
“Adam wants you to come see the baby now, and Maureen’s calling!” She waved the phone at me, but I just stood there.
Maureen! I was supposed to be at work in an hour!
“Relax, Lila, listen to what she says.” He took the phone from Eileen and handed it to me.
“H-hello?”
“Lila! Adam called last night, and I was dying to tell you, but I didn’t want to wake you too early, poor thing! How are you feeling? The flu sucks, doesn’t it? Somehow, it’s worse in the spring, isn’t it?”
“Ah . . . ”
“So, Cara came back! I knew she would, silly girl. He’s a keeper, that one. I think she was just afraid of her whole life changing, what with getting pregnant and married and she’s only twenty-six. Don’t you think?”
“Well, I . . . ” I shook a warning finger at Sal, and he shrugged.
“I know, I know. You don’t like to talk about how young you were . . . So how are you feeling? I’ve been worried about you and Eileen!”
“We’re good . . . ” Eileen patted my arm and walked away. “Better, thank you.”
“Well, you just keep resting! Phil and I have got this covered, and I need you healthy for our grand opening in two weeks!”
“Two weeks . . . that’s right . . . ” I sank onto the couch and tried to focus. “I’m sorry I’m sick. Will you have a chance to get the new girl trained? What’s her name again? Becky?”
“No, Becca got accepted to a summer program at UNC, so I found someone else. You’ll love her—you know her! I stole her away from the coffee shop.”
“Tessa?”
“Yes! And the flower lady is back. She says to tell you to ‘call on her at your earliest convenience.’” She giggled. “She’s so cute! I could practically see the calligraphy in my head.”
It was good to hear my friend’s high-spirited babble. She was so . . . normal. Yet after assuring her that Eileen and I were both drinking lots of fluids and resting in bed, it was a relief to disconnect. Normal, I was not. Nor was Eileen. For starters, there was an alien washing potatoes in our kitchen. And my daughter was standing behind him with her face scrunched in concentration, one finger slowly rising . . .
I opened my mouth, but Sal glanced up at me and winked. When Eileen poked him, he pretended not to notice, and she spun away to yank open a cabinet and grab a box of cereal.
“Would you prefer a hot meal?” he asked. “I am preparing your regional version of breakfast potatoes. Without meat, of course.” She ignored him to grab a bowl, and he laughed. “You cannot learn what you will not allow me to teach you.”
“Watch me,” she growled. “And this isn’t your home!”
“No, it is not.” His quiet sadness pulled me off the couch.
“We’re not big on breakfast around here, but you are more than welcome to fix anything you’d like.” Manners, I mouthed to Eileen. “My dad would’ve been thrilled for a real cook to use his skillet.”
“Your . . . father?”
“Yeah, he was the chef.” I gently moved aside my daughter and pulled the pan from the cabinet. “Have to say, it wasn’t vegetables that seasoned this baby, though. He was a meat ‘n potatoes man.”
Eileen’s irritation was still palpable, but she took the soymilk from the fridge and sat down at the table without making a scene.
“He . . . cooked with this?” Sal gingerly accepted the heavy skillet.
“Taught me how to make pancakes. That’s about all we use it for, right Leeni? You made them for me just . . . ” She hunched over her cereal bowl and refused to look at me. Just two days ago.
Two days ago, she’d had a glimpse of being in a real family. One with problems, but with enough love to solve them. She’d never had that experience before, and I barely remembered what it was like. But when Adam’s hand had brushed mine, I’d seen the truth of what had grown between us. The same truth that my daughter now saw slipping away.
I went to her and leaned in, but she shifted in her seat. She didn’t want a hug—not one from me, anyway. Blinking past tears, I turned to the only comfort I could allow myself. Sal already had two mugs waiting beside the sugar dish.
By the third spoonful, there was plenty of sugar scattered on the countertop, but not much in his coffee. The dark liquid was still and impassive in its pottery prison. A black emptiness. I
