A week later, another fight woke me from sleep. I rubbed my eyes and looked toward my sister’s crib. Maggie maintained her super power of sleeping through the chaos falling down all around us. She smiled in her sleep as if she felt my love and concern flowing over her. Maybe she did. Children have a certain magic when they are that young.
“I just got texts from Leanna and Louise,” mother’s shrill voice could have ripped the paint off the walls.
As it was, my heart thumped wildly inside me as I leaned closer in case she realize how loud she was. Anger makes us oblivious, so she continued at the same raised pitch. “You sent them emails telling them that you had found them new positions?”
“Shh. The girls.”
“I am thinking of the girls. How can you fire two members of our household?”
“We talked about this. We have to start cutting back on spending.”
“What are you cutting back on? Certainly not your fancy haircuts.”
“I switched from my barber to hitting up the Supercuts months ago. Clearly, they do a good job…” He paused here and I am certain his eyes wandered over mother’s precise cut and color, “But it wasn’t enough, so I had to look at the budget and see where we could save even more money. Do you know how much we pay them?”
“No,” mother’s voice lowered to an almost inaudible level.
Father’s voice followed suit. My weary eyelids slowly drew back together and sleep took me away.
~~
Morning reminded me of my moments of midnight wakefulness. Sunlight tickled my eyes, drawing me into daytime and out of a pleasant dream. The dream quickly faded as I heard angry clattering and slamming downstairs.
My father’s strained voice journeyed up the stairs, “Come on, Livie, this isn’t helping.”
“What? I am trying to get the girls breakfast ready all by myself before Sissy’s grandmother comes to take her to school,” she dripped acid into every word of accusation.
“Then do it a little quieter. We don’t want to scare the girls when they wake up.”
“Then you should have talked to me before making a decision that affects them.”
“I did.” Footsteps padded toward the stairs.
I laid back down and pulled the covers up to my chin. Moments later, the door opened and father came in. He leaned over to kiss me softly.
“Guess who has school today?”
I made a show of stretching and yawning. “I hope it’s me.”
“Yes, and mother has a very special surprise for you. She is making you breakfast.”
“Louise…” I started to say and then remembered overheard bits of conversation.
“She is working for someone else now, but she promised to visit. She wouldn’t want to miss seeing you and your sister grow up,” he turned away as his voice cracked, gazing in the direction of the crib.
Channeling her usual magic, Maggie woke up at that moment. She blinked her long lashes and grinned.
“Daddy,” she reached for him.
He stepped forward to pick her up and cradle her to his chest. I got the feeling he was happy for the distraction from our conversation.
“Let’s let Sissy get ready and see what mama made us for breakfast,” he cooed.
“Mama! Mama!” Maggie exclaimed with enthusiastic hand clapping.
Father stepped out with Maggie on his hip, pulling the door closed. I threw on my clothes in a hurry and rushed downstairs to see what was for breakfast. I couldn’t remember anyone but Louise ever cooking for us. Nona Bea offered a couple of times, but mother shut her down and made it clear she had also shut her out of the kitchen. A part of me hoped it would be waffles from the freezer. Louise saved those for special days like Thanksgiving and Christmas. She’d leave them for her days off so my sister and I could have a special treat to start our day.
As I stepped out of my room, a surprising aroma hit my nostrils. I detected pancakes but sweeter somehow, more like a cinnamon roll. Intrigued, I followed my nose downstairs where father and Maggie had already claimed places at the table. Both parents gave me a quick glance, nodding approvingly at my outfit choice, though Maggie clearly still wore last night’s pull-up and pajamas—one of which was full of more than cuteness.
“Sissy. Yummy,” Maggie waved a chunk of pancake at me.
“Don’t worry. You can have your own,” my father chuckled at his own joke.
I rolled my eyes but drew closer to the tantalizing smell.
“Try it without syrup first,” mother suggested as she placed a fresh pancake on my plate.
Steam rose up to carry the smell to my tastebuds and tempt me though I knew the pancake was too hot. I picked it up and fanned it in the air, switching hands as my fingers sent out warning messages. Finally, I took my first bite. It really did taste like a cinnamon roll and a pancake mixed into one.
“Now this is why I married, mommy,” father told us earnestly. “She made these when we were dating and I knew I had to marry her, so she would make them for me forever.”
“And I still wonder why I married you,” mother laughed, but father didn’t laugh with her.
He looked down at his clenched hands and took a deep breath, but released it without a comeback as Mother continued to work magic with batter and a skillet.
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