Part 2
Lily loved pancakes.
Usually, she would ask for chocolate chips.
She would dance around the kitchen island, pulling at my apron, singing a song she made up herself.
But today, she just sat.
Her small hands were folded in her lap.
Her eyes followed my movements, cautious, alert.
Like a tiny animal trying to figure out if the environment was safe.
"Here you go, sweetie," I said, setting the plate down.
I didn't make them into funny shapes today.
I didn't want to force a joy she wasn't ready to feel.
I just made them perfect. Warm. Golden.
She looked at the plate.
Then she looked at me.
"Is it okay if I drop a piece?" she whispered.
My breath caught in my throat.
It felt like a physical blow to my chest.
She was remembering last night.
She was remembering the way Jason’s mother had shrieked when a single blueberry fell onto her expensive rug.
The way Jason had laughed, calling Lily clumsy, telling his family she took after my side of the family—the side that didn't know how to behave in polite society.
"Lily," I said, kneeling down so I was eye-level with her. "If you drop the whole plate, we will just clean it up. Together. And then we'll make more."
She stared at me for a long time.
Searching my face for a trap.
Then, she picked up her fork.
She took a bite.
As she chewed, I reached into my pocket.
My phone was vibrating against my thigh again.
It had been doing that every two minutes.
I pulled it out, keeping the screen hidden from Lily.
A text message from Jason.
'Where the hell are you? My mother is frantic. The movers just showed up at her house with a repossession order for the art pieces. Tell me you didn't do this.'
I didn't reply.
I gently deleted the message.
Then I blocked his number.
The art pieces were inherited from my grandfather.
They had been "loanded" to his mother to decorate her grand parlor for an upcoming charity gala.
She loved showing them off.
She loved pretending they belonged to her dynasty.
They didn't.
May you like
They belonged to me.
And by noon, her parlor would be empty.
