He dripped red syrup behind him like a crime-scene trail.
His sister Madison opened my pantry.
“Why don’t you have the good snacks?”
I nearly laughed.
The good snacks.
The ones I was apparently expected to purchase for children who did not live with me.
Outside, Marlene called:
“Claire! The meat looks dry!”
I closed my eyes.
Then walked back to the grill.
“It’s fine.”
“Are you sure you’re not overcooking it?”
“I’m sure.”
She smiled.
“I’m only trying to help.”
Naturally.
AFTER THEY LEFT
That evening, Ethan loaded the dishwasher while I collected popsicle sticks from my flower beds.
“Ethan.”
“Hm?”
“Your mother moved the sofa again.”
He gave me an apologetic look.
“She thinks she’s helping.”
“She also ate approximately two hundred dollars’ worth of groceries.”
“I know.”
“Again.”
“I know.”
He sighed.
“I’ll talk to her.”
We both knew he probably wouldn’t.
