The rowhome’s kitchen was just big enough to fit a little dining table and three seats, the fourth edge of the table pressed up against a wall. From the kitchen window Leila could look outside and see Major Willow, and she hoped the little tree was taking root okay. She visited her twice a day to make sure she was safe and secure in the new plot of dirt. Leila was still torn as to whether or not it had been a good idea, planting the little tree there. The potential for the roots to wrap around something was so very real. But it would have to do for now.
Leila shrugged and adjusted her light box, shifting it over a little to make room for her plate of breakfast. The light shone right at her, beaming from the vertical, steel box. They’d fallen into a comfortable routine, sitting down at the kitchen table together in the morning, Jon reading his papers, Liz and Leila fussing with their phones, while the box beamed on Leila for a solid fifteen minutes. When they hit the halfway mark, right around seven minutes or so, conversation usually broke out, and for the most part phones went away and it was time for breakfast.
Leila didn’t show it, but she was relieved that Liz cooked today. Jon’s last experiment with waffles resulted in waffle batter burnt so solid, it could have been used as ice cube trays.
“So, how’s enrichment been?” Lisabeth asked, pushing a plate of eggs and bacon across their small kitchen table. “Still into it?”
“Not bad,” Leila said, taking a bite of bacon, and trying not to audibly sigh at the burst of salty and sweet flavor exploding in her mouth. “It’s mostly been me and Sarika hitting the school gym, which is ridiculously huge, or holing up in the library. And then there’s Adam’s at the end of the day.”
“So you’re basically spending summer the way you would have anyway. Books, coffee, Sarika,” Jon said, his newspaper rustling as he talked. “Why don’t you meet some people? Make some friends at the enrichment program. Aren’t there kids from all the regional schools in there?”
“Meh,” Leila said, taking another bite of bacon. “People are kind of the worst. I’ll stick to my routine, thanks. Routine is comfortable.” She tapped the metal side of her light box.
“That’s one of the building blocks of a good marriage,” Jon said, a smile in his voice.
Lisabeth laughed and threw a bag of tea at Jon’s head.
“What about that club, though?” Lisabeth asked, reaching for some more pancakes. “You know, the one with the Captain Planet kids that you’re all geared up about.”
“Oh, no, that’s nothing,” Leila said as Jon put down his newspaper, looking at her with increased interest. He folded his arms and lifted his eyebrows. She was sure a bad nature pun was coming. “Also, come on, Captain Planet? No one knows what that is anymore.”
“Sure they do,” Lisabeth said, leaning back in her chair. She took a bite of a pancake, and one of her braids slipped out of the headscarf they were wrapped up in. “Ah, shoot.” She fussed with it as she continued talking. “I bet it’s only a matter of time before Netflix reboots it or something.”
“We haven’t even met yet. So, we’ll see how Captain Planet-ish the group is,” Leila said. “But I’m going to ride my bike over to enrichment this morning, along the Schuylkill Trail, if you want to, I don’t know, take the ride with me?”
Leila shook her head, annoyed with herself at making it more of a question than a request, her voice turning up with her insecurity. She’d had a hard time trying to bond with any of the foster families, and now that she was actually adopted . . . she tried to push the dark, swirling feelings inside down deep someplace, and open herself up to all this. They wanted her. But the feeling of needing them pushed itself up. It pressed.
Accept me.
Don’t push me away.
I want to be here. I don’t want to be alone again.
“Sure, that sounds lovely,” Lisabeth said with a smile.
“Awesome.” Leila looked at her watch and flicked off the light box. “Thanks for the breakfast, Liz.” She stood up, pushed her chair in to the tiny table, and pulled at the power cord, popping the plug out of the wall beneath the table.
Lisabeth paused, standing there with an expectant look on her face.
“What is it?” Leila asked, as she started to pull the cord up from under the table, coiling it around her arm.
“Nothing,” she said, her voice gone quiet. “I’ll go get dressed and grab my helmet.” With that, she got up and made her way out of the kitchen, the sound of her feet soft against the steps leading upstairs.
Leila put her light box under the table and looked at Jon, who glanced up from his paper with that look. The one he’d been giving her the past few months. Leila grabbed her dishes and stormed over to the sink, tossing them in with a loud clatter.
“I can’t say it,” Leila said, standing at the sink. She looked up through the window at Major Willow outside. She looked at her palm, the scar shiny and pale against her skin. “I want to, but I can’t. Not yet.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jon said. Leila turned around and caught him as he reached for his coffee before taking a long sip.
“You do though. I know that look. I know what you’re thinking,” Leila said, leaning against the sink. “Sarika, her family had the same problem, you know? Last year, her parents kept trying to get her to say it. And it’s just hard, Jon, you know?”
“I don’t know, though,” Jon said between sips of his coffee. He placed his paper down on the table and looked at her, his mouth turned into a soft smile. “Leila, I’ve had a privileged life. I’m aware of it. Your moth—” He stopped himself, closing his eyes. “Lisabeth has taught me to look at what I have differently. My family? I was lucky. Her family, not so much.”
“Oh?” Leila asked, her heart hammering. She walked back to the kitchen table and sat down, nudging her chair closer, the wood of the chair scraping against the hardwood floor with an audible squeak.
“I’m not the one to talk to you about it,” Jon said, shaking his head. “That’s between you two, really. I don’t want to take that away from her, it’s not my place. Let’s just say I used words like “mom” and “dad” quite often growing up, throughout my whole life. She,” he looked up and out of the kitchen, towards the stairs. “She didn’t get to.”
“That’s,” Leila started, her chest feeling heavy. Lisabeth didn’t look like she’d lived with the weight that Leila had, and the revelation left her surprised. “I don’t even know what to say.”
“Sometimes it’s better just to listen,” Jon said, picking his coffee up again, lifting it in a faux toast. “Liz taught me that.”
“How does all this,” Leila said, gesturing between the two of them and then at the stairs, “not wear on you? I swear, I never see you cry or anything. You just make jokes all the time.”
“Defense mechanism,” Jon said, shrugging while sipping his coffee again. “I save all the heavy emotions for later. Bottle it all up and cry in the shower.”
“Oh my God, Jon.” Leila laughed, happy for the levity in the air.
“So this club of yours,” Jon started, changing the subject. “What’s the story? First you ban me from your message board, which was mean by the way, and now, why are you trying to hide it from me? It sounds fun.”
“Listen up, Sage Wisdom,” Leila said, pointing a finger at Jon. “I just don’t want you making a big deal out of it or anything. Or trying to, like, come join it or try to supervise it or whatever.”
“What?” Jon gasped. “I’d never do that.”
Leila gave him a stare.
“Okay, maybe I would, but okay. Okay. I’ll respect your privacy,” Jon said, smiling from behind his newspaper. “Besides, there’s far too much going on with all this stuff: the teaching, trying to cover what’s going on in the park. You know they’re trying to build in the park? And then there’s this whole visitor’s center and field mouse debacle up near East Falls.” He slapped at the newspaper and put it down. “And that abandoned bird conservatory for wounded raptors. Well, practically abandoned. I might do a story on it, but there’s all this conflict of interest and . . .”
He sipped his coffee and cleared his throat.
“Ah, darling,” he said, grinning over his paper and shaking his head. “It’s tough work, trying to save the world with words.”
“Someone has to do it though, right?” Leila didn’t so much ask as say.