Chapter 4: Breakfast and the Rules of This House
I passed the math test.
Mrs.
Ellison handed it back two days later with a 91 written in red at the top and a small star next to it.
She didn't make a big deal of it.
She just set it face-down on my desk and moved on.
I flipped it over and looked at the number for a long time.
Nobody at home knew about the test.
I hadn't mentioned it.
There was no one to mention it to.
That evening, Vanessa made pasta.
She set four plates on the table.
Caleb and Ava and herself and Dad.
She put the serving bowl in the center and sat down and began talking about a neighbor's fence dispute like the previous two days had not happened at all.
I stood in the kitchen doorway.
"There's bread on the counter," Vanessa said, without looking at me.
"You can eat in your room if you'd like.
I find it easier when everyone isn't crowded at the table."
Caleb's head came up.
"There's room," he said.
"There's literally an empty chair."
"Caleb." Vanessa's voice was pleasant.
That was the thing about her.
She was always pleasant.
"I wasn't talking to you."
"She can sit with us," Ava said.
Soft, but clear.
Vanessa looked at Ava with an expression that wasn't quite a smile and wasn't quite a warning but was somehow both.
"Sweetheart, eat your dinner."
I picked up the bread from the counter.
It was half a baguette, slightly stale, the kind you buy two days before you need it.
I took it to my room.
I sat on my bed and ate it dry and told myself it was fine.
It wasn't fine.
The next morning, I came downstairs early.
Earlier than usual.
I wanted to be in and out of the kitchen before Vanessa came down.
I was pouring cereal when I heard her on the stairs.
She came into the kitchen in her robe, saw me, and stopped.
"You're up early," she said.
"I wanted to get to school."
She moved to the coffee maker.
Started it without speaking.
The machine hissed and dripped.
"Nia," she said, her back still to me.
I kept my eyes on my bowl.
"I want to be clear about something."
"Okay."
She turned around.
Leaned against the counter with her arms crossed.
She was looking at me the way you look at a problem you've been patient with for too long.
"I don't dislike you," she said.
"I want you to understand that.
This isn't personal."
I looked up at her.
"What is it, then?"
"It's about structure.
Your father's household didn't have any before I came.
The kids had no routine, no consistency.
I've worked hard to change that.
And it works — for children who respect it."
"I texted that I'd be late.
I was at school.
With a teacher."
"You were late," she said.
"The reason doesn't change the fact."
"The reason is the only thing that matters."
Her expression didn't shift.
That was the thing.
She never got angry.
She never raised her voice.
She just kept that same level look that made you feel like you were the unreasonable one for having a reaction at all.
"Your father and I have discussed this," she said.
"We've agreed that consistency is important."
Something cold moved through me.
"He agreed with you?"
"We're a team, Nia.
That's how a family works."
I put my spoon down.
"Did he tell you what he said to me?
Two nights ago?"
A small pause.
Almost invisible.
"He told me he spoke with you.
Yes."
"Did he tell you what he said?"
"He told me he was emotional and said some things he didn't fully mean."
The kitchen was very quiet except for the coffee maker.
I picked up my bowl, walked to the sink, rinsed it, and set it on the rack.
"Have a good day," I said.
I picked up my backpack and walked out.
I was halfway down the block before I realized my hands were shaking.
He didn't fully mean it.
That was what she'd told me.
That was what he'd let her tell me.
I stopped walking.
Stood on the pavement in the early cold and looked at the end of the street where it curved toward school.
I thought about the 91 on my math test sitting in my bag.
I thought about the star Mrs.
Ellison had drawn next to it.
I thought about my mother, who I barely remembered now, who had made my father promise something before she d*ed.
Then I started walking again.
Because there was nothing else to do.
May you like
Not yet.
But the word yet had arrived in my chest and settled there like something that intended to stay.
