Page 5 of Lost in the Moment and Found

Antsy turned, slowly, to look toward the kitchen. The smell of hamburger continued, and she could hear faint sizzling sounds. Someone was cooking.

Carefully, she put down her crayons and slid out of her seat, padding silently toward the kitchen and peeking inside. There was Tyler, standing over the stove with a spatula in his hand, stirring something. She must have made a sound, because he turned and smiled at the sight of her.

“Let your mother know dinner’s handled,” he said. “And if you’d set the table, that would be fantastic.”

His tone made it clear that he wasn’t actually asking. Antsy was used to setting the table for dinner. She nodded solemnly and moved to begin collecting plates, taking herself farther into the room. She usually did her best to avoid being alone in a room with Tyler, but this was a specific task, and if there was a way to set the table without getting dishes down from the cabinet, she didn’t know what it would be.

“No,” he said sharply, as she was pulling down plates. “Not those plastic things.Realplates.”

Antsy froze. She wasn’t allowed to carry the grown-up plates on her own. She was too prone to dropping things. Shewasn’t a particularly clumsy child, but she was still a child, and a fidgety one at that. All children will drop things, fidgety children more than most.

But Tyler was looking at her with a frown, and she thought maybe he didn’t know she wasn’t allowed to touch the real plates. Even if hedidknow, she didn’t know how to argue with him. Throat tight, Antsy replaced the sturdy plastic plates they always used for dinner, giving one of them a small pat of apology, before reaching for the forbidden plates behind them. They were hefty ceramic, weathered and chipped from endless trips through the dishwasher, and while they weren’t unfamiliar, they also weren’t for every day. She counted out three and carried them, with precarious caution, out of the kitchen to the table.

“Tyler says he’s got dinner handled,” she said, feeling very grown-up as she set the real plates on the table. They made a little clinking sound, which the plastic ones never did, and she puffed her chest out with pride, because she hadn’t dropped a single one.

Her mother sat up at the sound, eyes going wide. “Antoinette Richards-Ricci, did you touch the good plates?” she demanded.

Antsy froze at the tone of her mother’s voice, and finally said, “Tyler told me to.”

“You know better than to touch the good plates,” said her mother. “You should have told him no.”

Antsy didn’t know what to do. Her mother and father used to fight sometimes, but they had never used her to do it; any disagreements they had about parenting had been conducted while she was in another room, out of earshot. “I’m… I’m…” she managed, before ducking her head and scuttling for the kitchen. Maybe if she finished setting the table, hermother wouldn’t be so angry. Maybe forks and napkins were a talisman against maternal wrath.

Tyler looked up and frowned when she came running in. “Slow down,” he said. “It’s not a race.”

“Do we, um, do we need knives tonight? Or just forks?”

“How do you like your Sloppy Joes?” he asked.

Antsy didn’t know what a Sloppy Joes was. She blinked at him, bewildered and a little wild-eyed, still trying to process the fact that her mother was mad at her for doing what she’d been told to do. “Um,” she said finally. “With a… fork?” Saying she didn’t want a knife was usually safe, especially when her mother was already in a rotten mood.

“That’s fine,” he said, and she dove for the silverware drawer with relief, pulling it open and getting out three forks before picking up a short stack of napkins and heading back into the dining room.

Her mother had reached the table and was scowling at the mess of Antsy’s crayons and coloring pages, which she hadn’t had the time to clear away yet. Antsy put the forks and napkins down, not taking the time to line them up just so in her hurry to clear her things off the table.

“You should have cleaned this up before you started,” said her mother, settling in her chair. Then she thawed slightly, saying, “I’m sorry, pumpkin. I appreciate you stepping up and helping Tyler with dinner. It’s very kind of you.”

“I didn’t know Tyler knew how to cook,” said Antsy. “I thought if you didn’t feel good enough to do it, we’d have pizza.”

“I can cook a few things,” said Tyler, emerging from the kitchen to kiss her mother on the temple as he put a large bowl of salad down on the table. “Antoinette, go get the glasses.”

She didn’t like that word. “You mean the cups?” she asked, hopefully.

Tyler frowned. “Why would I have said ‘the glasses’ when I meant ‘the cups’?”

“Because Antsy still isn’t allowed to carry the glasses by herself,” said her mother sternly. “So you must have meant cups.”

“Oh,” said Tyler. “Yes, I meant cups.”

Antsy skittered back into the kitchen before he could change his mind again, returning with three brightly colored plastic tumblers. She set one in front of each place setting, then slid into her own chair, still feeling unreasonably proud of herself for carrying the plates without dropping them, even if it might have been better if she’d told Tyler no. He probably hadn’t realized she wasn’t supposed to.

She froze when she realized both Tyler and her mother were looking at her. Swallowing hard, she asked, “Did I do something wrong?”

“Tyler didn’t tell you to get the good plates,” said her mother. “Why would you make up something like that?”

“I wouldn’t! I mean, I didn’t. I mean, he did so.” Antsy looked at Tyler like he might change his mind about whatever lie he’d told her mother and tell her the truth. “I started to get the plates I’m supposed to use, and he told me to get the other ones.”

Tyler looked at her, an expression of exaggerated disappointment on his face. “I knew you didn’t like me, but this isn’t nice of you,” he said, and walked back to the kitchen, leaving her to gape after him, mouth moving silently.

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