you, Mommy. Amanda held it all in.
Her younger daughter entered the kitchen, already dressed and ready for school, wearing clean, pressed khaki capris and a simple white eyelet blouse, tasteful flats. Lord only knows what Emily would come down wearing and what type of battle would ensue. Amanda leaned in to kiss Eloise, smelling lightly of flowers and baby powder. Then the girl went to the fridge and grabbed the jug of orange juice, set out the glasses, and started pouring.
“Em’s still sleeping,” said Amanda, “by the way.”
Eloise felt that little rush of annoyance, that edge she got when things were running late.
“Emily Grace,” Eloise yelled from the kitchen doorway. “Get out of that bed right this second. We’re late .”
“ Okay!” Emily’s voice carried down the stairs, jagged with annoyance. Only a teenager could sound that put out over anything. “God! Okay !”
The shower was running, which meant that at least Alfie was up. Christ, did it have to be such a chore to get everyone out the door in the morning? Did they not do the same damn thing every single day? Must everyone be monitored and cajoled to get off to school and work? Eloise caught herself, took a deep breath. Running late was not an emergency. It was not even really a problem.
The eggs were on the stove, the toast in the toaster. Eloise got started on the lunches. Everyone was getting turkey on rye today, like it or not. After that was done, she walked a cup of coffee up the creaking stairs to Alfie, leaving Amanda to get the food onto the plates. Upstairs, Eloise left the coffee steaming on their dresser. She didn’t even bother putting anything under the cup to protect the wood. Though her husband considered the piece an “antique” that was just in need of “refinishing,” which he was planning to do “next weekend,” she considered the dresser a candidate for Thursday bulk garbage pickup. Anyway, it served its function, and she was not one to replace a thing that functioned any more than her husband was. But she wasn’t going out of her way to preserve it, either.
She quickly dressed—a floral printed skirt that really belonged in the donate pile, a long-sleeve pink tee-shirt. She slipped into some scuffed flats. She’d shower when they’d all left for school.
By the time Eloise returned to the kitchen, Emily was in her perpetual slouch at the table. Her dark hair was spikey and wild, her black eyeliner too thick, her shoulder exposed through a stylized rip in her black sweatshirt. Eloise wasn’t even going to look at those combat boots the girl insisted on wearing or the “distressed” denim skirt over thick black tights. This is normal teenage behavior , Eloise told herself. If Emily wants to rebel with fashion, fine. As long as Eloise couldn’t see too much of her thighs or her cleavage, Emily could wear what she wanted.
Emily caught her staring. “What?” she spat. “Just because I don’t look like Marion the Librarian over here?”
“Hey,” said Amanda without heat. “Freak.”
“I didn’t say a word,” said Eloise. She poured herself a cup of coffee.
“You didn’t have to,” said Emily. She put a miniscule piece of toast in her mouth.
Eloise set Alfie’s plate on the table. And then sat down with her own plate, which she had piled high with eggs and toast and fruit. Eloise ate with vigor, and she always had. She loved food; couldn’t wait for her next meal. In fact, she often planned what she would have for lunch while she was eating breakfast. She was one of “those annoying people” who could eat whatever she wanted and stay rail thin. And she reveled in it. She’d never even seen the inside of a gym. She was no beauty queen, but in that department she had won the genetic lotto. So had the girls, though they were too foolish to realize it. Poor Alfie, on the other hand—one whiff of baked goods and he inflated like a puff pastry.
“How are my beautiful girls this morning,”
Her younger daughter entered the kitchen, already dressed and ready for school, wearing clean, pressed khaki capris and a simple white eyelet blouse, tasteful flats. Lord only knows what Emily would come down wearing and what type of battle would ensue. Amanda leaned in to kiss Eloise, smelling lightly of flowers and baby powder. Then the girl went to the fridge and grabbed the jug of orange juice, set out the glasses, and started pouring.
“Em’s still sleeping,” said Amanda, “by the way.”
Eloise felt that little rush of annoyance, that edge she got when things were running late.
“Emily Grace,” Eloise yelled from the kitchen doorway. “Get out of that bed right this second. We’re late .”
“ Okay!” Emily’s voice carried down the stairs, jagged with annoyance. Only a teenager could sound that put out over anything. “God! Okay !”
The shower was running, which meant that at least Alfie was up. Christ, did it have to be such a chore to get everyone out the door in the morning? Did they not do the same damn thing every single day? Must everyone be monitored and cajoled to get off to school and work? Eloise caught herself, took a deep breath. Running late was not an emergency. It was not even really a problem.
The eggs were on the stove, the toast in the toaster. Eloise got started on the lunches. Everyone was getting turkey on rye today, like it or not. After that was done, she walked a cup of coffee up the creaking stairs to Alfie, leaving Amanda to get the food onto the plates. Upstairs, Eloise left the coffee steaming on their dresser. She didn’t even bother putting anything under the cup to protect the wood. Though her husband considered the piece an “antique” that was just in need of “refinishing,” which he was planning to do “next weekend,” she considered the dresser a candidate for Thursday bulk garbage pickup. Anyway, it served its function, and she was not one to replace a thing that functioned any more than her husband was. But she wasn’t going out of her way to preserve it, either.
She quickly dressed—a floral printed skirt that really belonged in the donate pile, a long-sleeve pink tee-shirt. She slipped into some scuffed flats. She’d shower when they’d all left for school.
By the time Eloise returned to the kitchen, Emily was in her perpetual slouch at the table. Her dark hair was spikey and wild, her black eyeliner too thick, her shoulder exposed through a stylized rip in her black sweatshirt. Eloise wasn’t even going to look at those combat boots the girl insisted on wearing or the “distressed” denim skirt over thick black tights. This is normal teenage behavior , Eloise told herself. If Emily wants to rebel with fashion, fine. As long as Eloise couldn’t see too much of her thighs or her cleavage, Emily could wear what she wanted.
Emily caught her staring. “What?” she spat. “Just because I don’t look like Marion the Librarian over here?”
“Hey,” said Amanda without heat. “Freak.”
“I didn’t say a word,” said Eloise. She poured herself a cup of coffee.
“You didn’t have to,” said Emily. She put a miniscule piece of toast in her mouth.
Eloise set Alfie’s plate on the table. And then sat down with her own plate, which she had piled high with eggs and toast and fruit. Eloise ate with vigor, and she always had. She loved food; couldn’t wait for her next meal. In fact, she often planned what she would have for lunch while she was eating breakfast. She was one of “those annoying people” who could eat whatever she wanted and stay rail thin. And she reveled in it. She’d never even seen the inside of a gym. She was no beauty queen, but in that department she had won the genetic lotto. So had the girls, though they were too foolish to realize it. Poor Alfie, on the other hand—one whiff of baked goods and he inflated like a puff pastry.
“How are my beautiful girls this morning,”
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