Page 70 of Ink Me Three Times
Timothy:Sounds good. See you then.
Penny’s voice breaks through my spiral.
"Ivy, I’m hungry! Can we eat waffles now?"
I snap out of my thoughts, forcing a smile. "Okay, kiddo, waffles are coming right up."
She shuffles into the kitchen in her little dinosaur print pajamas, all ready for bed. Her messy curls stick out in all directions like she’s just had a one woman wrestling match with all her stuffed toys.
Knowing Penny, she probably did.
"You wanna eat the waffles with me?" I ask, trying to get my brain to focus on something, anything, that doesn’t make my chest feel tight.
She beams up at me, her face lighting up like I’ve just offered her a goldmine.
"Yes! With syrup! I like it when it’s all sticky!" she announces with all the authority of someone who knows exactly what she wants.
I laugh, despite myself. "Yeah, I figured you did. All sticky, huh?"
She nods seriously, then grabs her plate and sets it on the table with a little dramatic flourish. "I’m a big girl," she says proudly, her tiny voice full of self assurance as she climbs into her chair like it’s the throne of a queen.
I hand her a perfectly stacked waffle, and she digs into it with her usual enthusiasm, face smothered in syrup within seconds.
"Yummy! Best waffles ever!" she says around a mouthful, giving me a syrupy grin that makes my heart squeeze.
I smile at her, feeling a little more grounded in the moment. She doesn’t need to know how much I’m unraveling inside. All she needs is for me to be here, to make her supper, to laugh at her silly stories about her stuffed animals fighting evil robots.
"Glad you like them, kiddo," I say, feeling a flicker of normalcy.
I go back to cleaning up the kitchen, trying to put my scattered thoughts back together, but the sound of the door opening pulls my attention away.
Freddie’s home.
"Hey."
Uh oh, I can already hear the strain in his tone.
I turn, catching sight of him standing in the doorway, his face drawn, like he’s been carrying something heavy all day. He doesn't seem like himself, not the Freddie I know who can crack a joke any time.
"Hey," I say, putting the dish towel down and walking over to him. "You okay?"
He doesn’t immediately answer. His eyes flicker to me, but there’s a heaviness there, something I can’t quite place. Then he sighs, rubbing his hand across his face like he’s trying to rub away the weight of the world.
"Yeah," he mutters, but it’s flat, too flat. "Just tired."
I don’t believe him. I reach out, putting my hand lightly on his arm. "Freddie... what’s going on?"
He glances down at my hand, then back to me. There’s a moment of silence before he shrugs. "It’s nothing. Just work stuff."
I feel that familiar knot in my stomach, like I’m trying to get closer to something, but it keeps slipping through my fingers. I had the chance to talk to him yesterday, and I didn’t. I ran off, scared.
I regret it now that he’s icing me out.
I watch him, feeling the weight of his silence settle over me like a cloud that refuses to clear. There’s a flicker of something in his eyes, something that’s not nothing, but I can’t quite pin it down. Frustration? Worry? Anger? I can’t tell. All I know is it’s there, and I can’t reach it.
"Freddie…" I start again, trying to catch his attention, to get through whatever wall he’s put up today. But he’s already looking away, turning toward the living room as if the conversation is over.
"I’m sure you have to be getting home," he mutters, almost to himself.
