Rebecca was in the kitchen, looking through her favorite food blog, Dinner by Dad, to find something to make that night. It would be fun if Daniel could come over for dinner, she’d enjoy cooking for him, watching him interact with her daughters. Daughter. Alexa was never home for dinner. They were in the kitchen, Morgan sitting at the island and Rebecca leaning against it, eyes on her laptop.
“What should I make, Morgs?” she asked, glancing up from the screen. “Are you feeling tacos?”
“No,” said Morgan.
“Hmm. Salad? With grilled vegetables and a tahini dressing?”
“Definitely not. I hate grilled vegetables.” Morgan did actually hate grilled vegetables. Why were Dinner by Dad’s children, two young boys, so willing to eat everything put before them?
Maybe they weren’t. Maybe it was all a front, a ruse. Maybe Dinner by Dad didn’t even have children. Real little boys didn’t eat eggplant without complaint. She closed the laptop and looked more carefully at Morgan.
“What’s wrong, Morgs?” she asked. “You look positively downtrodden.”
“I don’t know what that means,” said Morgan combatively. She kicked her feet against the island in exactly the way she knew she wasn’t supposed to because it left marks.
“It means you look really sad. What’s going on?”
“Nothing.”
“Come on, sweetie, you can tell me.” She wondered if she should take Morgan back to the grief counselor, get her on a regular schedule again. Her own therapist had told her that mourning was full of peaks and valleys, and that the up and down motion could last a long time. Perhaps Morgan had slipped into a valley and needed help getting out of it.
“It’s just—” Morgan kicked at the island again, and Rebecca tried really hard not to tell her to stop. “It’s just, why is Alexa always babysitting for Katie now? And never home with us.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say she’s always babysitting for Katie. This is only her second time!”
“But when I want to do something with her, she’s always busy. When Sherri needs her, she’s not busy.”
Rebecca chewed her lip. This was a fair point. “Do you want me to talk to her about it?”
“No,” said Morgan. “I don’t want her to feel sorry for me. I just want her to be like she was.”