Page 40 of A Convenient Secret
Perched on the counter, she swings her tiny legs back and forth, her fluffy slippers discarded.
Zach watches me with a mixture of suspicion and something close to disdain. The weight of his gaze is not helping the tornado of thoughts swirling in my head.
“Easy peasy.” I force a smile. My voice sounds strained even to me. “Piece of cake. We’ve got this.”
We do not have this. I have never used a whisk.
My stomach churns, but not from hunger. I can’t even imagine eating. But I need to create a normal, fun morning for these kids. I owe them that, at least.
Why can’t I do anything in the kitchen? I check my notifications, hoping for some sort of update. Nothing. Just the same blank screen mocking me.
I pull my gaze away and try to focus on the task at hand. “Okay.” I clasp my hands together. “Let me get toast from the pantry.”
I open the door behind me, right beside the cleaning closet. I immediately see myself with Declan standing there while I retrieved the vacuum.
He was affected by me then, but I believed it wasn’t about me but rather his need. But then, last night, when he asked me to lock my door? There was something carnal behind it. Like he couldn’t control himself, so he asked me to do it.
That was what my overactive imagination offered, anyway. I didn’t lock it. And I would lie if I didn’t imagine him coming to check on me. That fantasy turned out very differently in real life.
I should have locked it. He wouldn’t be in the hospital now.
Sighing, I step into the pantry, looking for toast. What I find floods me with a strange feeling of homesickness. I stare at the shelf full of Spinelli pasta and sauces, memories rushing through my mind.
“What’s taking so long?” Zoya bumps into me from behind. “Oh. You can’t find the toast?” She sneaks around me and reaches for the bag with the white bread.
“You guys like Spinelli pasta for sure,” I mumble.
“It’s the best.” She looks at me like I come from another planet, and don’t know the obvious.
“It is the best.” I close the door quickly, lowering my forehead to the wooden surface.
It must be my lack of sleep and last night’s adrenaline that stirs this weird melancholy. I shut it all down, just like I learned to do when I left home.
I turn to the twins with a smile. “Step one: crack the eggs. Who wants to try?”
Zoya eagerly raises her hand. “Me! Me!”
Her enthusiasm brings a smile to my face despite everything. “Great.” I hand her an egg. “Just… be gentle.” Or maybe it requires strength? It looked easy in the video.
She smashes the egg against the rim of the bowl with the subtlety of a wrecking ball. Half the shell crumbles into the bowl, the yolk barely surviving the assault. The other half plops to the counter.
“Oops.” She giggles.
“Maybe we should order breakfast.” Zach narrows his eyes.
Zoya wipes her hands on her pink pajamas. “Fwom that waffles place.” She bounces, the cooking project forgotten.
Their father makes their breakfast almost every single day, and here I am, responsible for his absence and failing to recreate their normal morning.
“It’s okay. We can make our own breakfast,” I say quickly, fishing out shards of eggshell with my fingers.
“Why are you even here?” Zach asks bluntly, his serious tone cutting through Zoya’s giggles.
I pause, my fingers midair with a piece of eggshell on them.
“Stop it, Zach. We like Lily, wemembew.” Zoya swipes hair from her face, and now there is egg gluing her tresses.
Zach glowers, and there is so much of Declan in that expression I avert my eyes.
