“It’s a really crappy mattress, I know,” I say for her.
“No, it’s okay. I’ll get a mattress pad or something…” she says, standing and pushing down on it a few times. That mattress is probably two decades old. I’d switch mine with hers, but I’m pretty sure mine is even worse. The only one with a good mattress in this house is Leah, and hers is built for a child.
Paige paces around the room, pulling out a few drawers and flipping the light on in her closet, getting familiar with her new surroundings. I was sort of surprised when her sister and that girl Rowe weren’t there to help us move her things this morning. I know she said their relationship was strained, but I also thought they were working on it. When I asked her about her sister, she flinched, and then begged me not to tell anyone she was living here. I get it; she’s hiding. But I also feel like she’s embarrassed to be here.
“All right, well, we’ll be back early this afternoon. My mom is making dinner—you know, to welcome you? Hope that’s okay…” I’m holding her doorknob, my body halfway in and out of her room. I don’t want to leave.
“That’s nice of her,” she says, her eyes coming up to mine, but retreating. She’s standing in the middle of her room, her fingers fidgeting in front of her body, and her teeth chewing at her lip so much I think she may actually bite through her own skin.
“You’re welcome to join us—Leah and me—if you want…”
“Yes,” she interjects. Her enthusiasm makes me smile, but I hide it with my hand. I don’t know why I like that she’s uncomfortable, but I do.
“Okay, we’ll leave in an hour. Leah takes a while to wake up and get ready,” I say, pulling her door closed behind me.
“I can relate,” she says just before the door shuts.
Leah finishes her pancakes, using her sleeve to wipe the syrup from her mouth. My mom hates it when she does that, but she learned it from me, so I feel like I don’t have the right to correct her. If you want sugar on your arm kid, have at it!
I pull her plate from the table and rinse it quickly at the sink, setting it in a rack to wash better later. We don’t have a dishwasher. There’s a spot for one, but we have a mini-fridge, filled with my mom’s jams and jellies, stuffed in there instead. She sells them at the store, too.
When I turn back to the open kitchen, Leah is standing near the foot of the steps—her fingers fidgeting just as Paige’s were an hour ago—her lips tight and her breath held while she stretches up on her toes to see the top of the steps. She’s waiting for Paige, and she’s nervous.
“Whatcha doing there, sport?” I ask, pulling her jacket from the small rack by the door. I hold the sleeves out for her, and she stuffs her arms inside the purple unicorn coat, leaving them stretched out to either side so I can zip it up. I kneel down in front of her and she pushes one hand on top of my head so she can see over me.
“Is she up there?” she whispers. I smile as I look down at her shoes, stopping to fix the Velcro straps.
“She’ll be right down. She’s coming to the park with us,” I say. Leah pushes on my head with both hands now, forcing my hair in my eyes. I reach around and lift her in my arms, picking her up in the air so she can see to the top of the steps more easily.
“Is she coming now?” she asks.
“Soon,” I say, blowing hard on her neck, my lips to her skin so it makes a noise. She bends into me and giggles.
I set her down and walk to the living room to grab my own jacket and shoes. I lean against the sofa to put my shoes on and watch as Leah remains in the same spot, her hands back to wringing in front of her, her neck craning to see. Her eyes light up the second I hear the creaking sound of Paige’s door, and Leah flashes her eyes to me, frozen. She’s not sure if she should stand there or run. I step over to her so she doesn’t feel nervous, and she folds into my side, hiding her face on my leg, then peering out with her cheek firm against me.
I don’t look at Paige until she’s almost completely down the steps, but Leah, she watches the entire time, her eyes widening, and her smile growing. When I look up, I see why.
I’m pretty sure she’s done this on purpose. Paige is wearing a pink dress with matching shoes, and her hair is a perfect glow around her face. She’s holding a pink purse in her hands, and the closer she gets to Leah, the bigger my daughter’s smile becomes.
“Hey, Leah. I’m Paige. We met once, at your dad’s work?” she says, kneeling down so she can look Leah in the eyes.