I didn’t think about it again.
Lunch disappeared in less than 30 minutes, and every serving dish came back scraped clean.
I barely had time to sit before someone held out an empty pitcher.
“Ivy, could we get more lemonade?”
Another voice followed.
“Can we have more ice?”
“Where are the extra napkins?”
I stood up before I’d even swallowed my second bite.
“You okay?” Eli asked.
“I’m fine.”
I’d learned that telling him otherwise usually earned me sympathy instead of help.
After lunch, everyone migrated back to the living room.
The game resumed.
The cheering started.
The dishes stayed behind.
Guess who followed them?
I filled the sink with hot water and stared at what looked like enough cookware to feed a small army.
Because it had.
The sounds from the living room drifted into the kitchen.
Cheers.
Groans.
Arguments over referee calls.
Someone laughed so hard they snorted.
Meanwhile, I scrubbed roasting pans.
About 20 minutes later, Eli wandered in.
Relief washed over me.
Finally.
Maybe he’d decided to help.
Instead, he opened the refrigerator.
“You know where the sodas are?”
I looked at him.
“The ones directly in front of your face?”
He blinked.
“Oh.”
He grabbed two cans.
“Thanks, babe.”
Then he disappeared back into the living room.
I stood there holding the sponge, fighting tears. It wasn’t the dishes. I realized my husband had watched me drown all day and never thought to throw me a lifeline.
I finished loading the dishwasher, wiped my hands, and carried a tray of fresh drinks toward the living room.
The moment I stepped through the doorway, I stopped.
Everything inside me went still.
Gladys sat at one end of the couch.
Eli stretched across it, his attention fixed on the match.
His legs rested comfortably across his mother’s lap.
She was rubbing lotion into his bare feet.
Slow, careful circles.
Like she had done it a hundred times before.
I honestly wondered if I was hallucinating.
Nobody else looked surprised.
One of Eli’s brothers barely glanced over before returning his attention to the television.
A cousin reached for more chips.
Someone shouted at the referee.
As if a grown man having his mother massage his feet in the middle of my living room was completely ordinary.
I set the tray on the coffee table a little harder than I intended.
Several heads turned.
“What exactly is going on?”
Gladys looked up first.
