Page 16 of Dream House
A frown creases her brow as she shakes her head. “No, I’m fine.”
“It’s covered in your rent,” I blurt, surprising myself. “Breakfast, I mean.”
Nina eyes me with suspicion, and I push away from the table. “And coffee.” I gesture toward the full pot to add credibility to my offer. And, hey, it’s not a lie. It’s just a very new policy.
I decided on it just now. Breakfast for my tenants. I can do that. I’m making it anyway for Maisy, Tyler, and myself.
“Today it’s bagels and your choice of butter, cream cheese, or jam.” Again, the condiments on my counter add legitimacy. “What can I get you?”
Nina stares at the items on the counter, looking doubtful.
“It’s continental today, but I do a hot breakfast a few days a week.” Again, not a lie.
She blinks. I watch her inhale. The coffee smells good if I do say so myself. I realize then that she probably hasn’t eaten in hours. Maybe even more than twenty-four hours. As far as I know, she didn’t leave the house last night, and I know she didn’t come down to the kitchen and help herself to anything.
“The ad didn’t mention anything about breakfast being included,” she says.
Itsk.“Yeah, I’ll need to speak to Pen about that,” I say, feigning disappointment.
She turns a puzzled expression my way. “Does she work for you?”
I have to bite down on my smile. “Pen doesn’t work for anyone.” I chuckle. “But she helps me—helps us... Please. Have a seat.” I gesture toward the table. Like all of the common rooms, Nanna’s kitchen is big. Big enough for her scarred farmhouse table that seats six. The thing is made of pecan and bears a few cigarette burns from Nanna’s father’s time, the dot-dot-dots of Nanna’s tracing wheel from when she cut out patterns for her dresses, and the scratch from that time I put my skateboard on the table.
Oops.
Without hearing her actually accept one, I pop a bagel in the toaster, and Nina must see that a breakfast is inevitable because she sits at the table—at the far end from Maisy.
But my four-year-old is undeterred. “Why is your eye like that?”
“Maisy, finish your breakfast. We have to get you to school.”
My attempt at redirection is a resounding failure.
“Ish it a bo-bo?” Maisy asks through another mouthful.
I glance over my shoulder, but Nina isn’t hiding behind her hair like I expect. She’s looking back at Maisy. And even if she isn’t exactly smiling, her face is open. The most open I’ve seen so far.
“Yes, it’s a bo-bo.”
Maisy nods with authority. “Don’t worry. It’ll get better.”
Now Nina does smile a little. I do too. For a moment, I’m struck by the oddness of the present. A month ago, I wouldn’t have imagined we’d be having breakfast, here, in Nanna’s kitchen with a stranger. A battered stranger, no less.
And Maisy is completely okay with all of it. She’s the absolute best. The best thing life has ever given me.
“I hope so,” Nina says, and I hear the false cheer. Our eyes meet, and I want to echo Maisy’s promise.Don’t worry. It’ll get better.But who am I to make those kinds of promises?
“Uncle Tyler has a bo-bo head,” Maisy says, again an expert on all things bo-bo. “He’s getting better.”
“Oh,” Nina offers. Because what else can she say?
The bagel pops up, and I toss the halves onto a plate. “Butter or cream cheese?”
Nina blinks a few times, looking at me as if I’ve asked her if she’d prefer a Lexus or a Mercedes. “Cream cheese, please.”
“Cream cheese is yucky,” Maisy mutters.
“Maisy.” My stern tone has her tucking her chin.
