this when she thinks she is saying something really intelligent, and I wouldn’t dream of interrupting her now.
I lean against the door frame, with my arms crossed, to watch and listen. Alex looks up at me. We smile at each other and catch a glimpse of something unsaid, but written in our eyes—something that reminds me of the early days, when small simple looks and smiles came from somewhere a lot deeper than our faces. I look at the floor, wondering what just happened, what it meant. A mutual glint of pride, perhaps? A brief moment where our daughter caused us to forget we are supposed to be angry with each other? Or was it real? Was it a taste of what we still have, and what we need to savor?
Alex focuses his attention back to Tessa. “A business trip?” he asks in a cartoon voice. “That’s a funny place to have a business trip!” Alex says, squeezing Tessa’s nose.
“No, it’s not, Papa. It was from Mars, looking for a place to make babies.” The end of her statement trails off a little, I think as she realizes the impossibility of what she is saying. As soon as it comes out of her mouth she puts her hands behind her back, tilts her head to the side, and looks at the floor with an impish smirk on her face. Where does she come up with these things?
“Babies?” Alex asks in his proper voice. “Babies from Mars, on a business trip, up your nose? Why?” Alex’s voice is laced with amused confusion.
Tessa perks up again. Facing her nose toward the ceiling and pointing up her nostril, she calls out, “Because it’s warm in there.” I shake my head and go back into the kitchen, hoping Alex will follow and help me put everything away.
I can hear Alex’s knees crack. “Come on, Tessa. Let’s go and play with Doggy,” he says.
And he leaves me.
Alone.
Once again.
To be the wife.
In the kitchen.
Where I belong.
I’m preparing pasta sauce when Tessa and Alex come skipping into the kitchen for some chocolate milk. Alex opens the fridge and lifts Tessa up to reach it for herself.
“Not before dinner,” I snap.
“Why?” Tessa asks, looking to Alex for support. He winks at her and pats her on the head. I glare at him.
“Because you won’t eat it.”
“I will.”
“You won’t.”
“I will!” Tessa screams stamping her feet in tempest fury. Her face goes red, and saliva splutters from her mouth.
Alex rolls his eyes at me and pulls the carton of chocolate milk out of the fridge anyway.
“What are you doing?” I’m cutting basil leaves. I grip the knife tighter. My nails turn white. That hidden scream isn’t going to stay tame for much longer.
“Just giving her a little bit,” Alex says, taking a glass out of the cupboard from above my head. His arm brushes against my shoulder. I have a sudden urge to elbow him in his side. I don’t.
“How can you undermine me like that?” I ask, in a solid, low, civil tone, staring at the basil. I imagine picking up the chopping board and flinging it into Alex’s face.
“What’s ‘undermine’ mean?” he asks with a smirk.
I ignore the question and hand the half glass of chocolate milk to Tessa. She takes it and gulps it all down in one go.
“Finished, then?” I ask, holding out my hand to take the glass.
“Can I have a bit more?”
I shake my head. Tessa looks to Alex for support. I glare at Alex as he smirks back at me. Tessa turns her pleading eyes on me, but I dare not look at her for fear I’ll give in. I narrow my glare on Alex. He finally shakes his head no. I reach for the glass, but she pulls it away.
“I want some more!” she yells so high-pitched my ears buzz.
Alex rubs his hands over his face and makes a move to leave the kitchen. I grab his arm to stop him. “Don’t you leave me to clean up your mess,” I scowl.
“You can’t have anymore, now give me the glass.” I growl through gritted teeth. Tessa doesn’t move. She just stares at me. I grab her arm and try to pry the glass from her hand.