“I’m pretty sure I do.” I pushed my seat away from the table and stood by the coat rack, waiting for her to finish and pay the bill. I wished I had the courage to walk all the way home in the black night air, but I didn’t really know where I was so I waited as she ate every last bite on her plate. For a moment, as we drove home, the silhouette of her face against the dark night looked soft and I wanted to say something to fix it, but just as I was about to speak, her lips pursed and her knuckles hardened around the steering wheel and I realized that I had just run headfirst into another one of my mother’s very well kept secrets.

Therese

Therese fumbled with the key.

She could hear the television and then the loud crashing sound of metal, which was followed by a ringing noise. She imagined the object that had fallen was spinning on the floor, growing slower, sloppier, and quieter with every rotation. When she finally pushed the door open, she found Tim on his knees collecting popcorn that had landed like shrapnel all over the living room floor. Therese put her bags down and joined him, but he would not look at her, instead whispering quietly that he had told his mother about the baby. It was the sound of apology in his voice that made her cringe.

Barbara was standing now, her arm raised and pointed at Therese, “Don’t think it ends here.” She stormed into her bedroom, her weight sloshing back and forth from the force of her exit. Therese looked back at Tim. The red marks on his face were in the perfect shape of a hand. She reached out, but he pushed her away so she left him alone.

Barbara kept to herself for days, and the house felt different without her at its center. Therese and Tim developed a routine. Every night she sat on the kitchen counter, legs dangling, while he did the dishes. She liked watching him cook and was amazed that he never used a recipe; he made up the steps as he went along, mixing ground meat and adding water and breadcrumbs until it reached the consistency he liked. His big hands became delicate as they rolled perfectly round little meatballs the size of golf balls. The house smelled of onions and tomatoes and basil and sometimes she would forget that it wasn’t just the two of them.

She tried to help him clean up afterward, but when she joined him his movements became awkward. So she left him to his chores and returned to the counter to watch. Sometimes he brought her fresh fruit from the store, which she ate while he cleaned.

“How long have you been cooking?” Her teeth slid across the shiny skin of her apple and then embedded into the white flesh.