“Inheritance,” he said and she winced.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. It was a long time back. Things happen. Anyway, through here is the kitchen…” Nick waved a hand from behind her past the archway. Emma peeked in and was greeted by a farmhouse kitchen. A border of tiny chickens rimmed the top of the room and a silver plate with an embossed rooster decorated the far wall. A single dining room table of distressed wood sat below. Two of its chairs were pulled out and the last one had stacks of boxes on the seat.
The stove was designed to look like the old wood-burning ones, though she’d guess the microwave beside it did most of the work. Next to that was the fridge, an older model with the freezer on top. It was covered in scraps of receipts, magnets for local repair services, and a handful of child drawings.
“Ooh, I’ve always wanted a farmhouse sink.” Emma dashed to it and peeked down, finding some plates deep in the basin. She could wash cherries for pies in it, and dunk all her pots and pans in one go.
“Really? A sink?” Nick flipped on the faucet, spraying warming water across her hands. “You’d need a stool to reach to the bottom,” he said and Emma gulped. She slipped her hands back, her ears ringing with his rightful chastisement from earlier.
“You’re probably right,” she said slowly. The tops of cabinets were a quagmire for her. That she wanted a hanging pot rack in her future kitchen sounded as ludicrous as the farmhouse sink.
“You’re just, I mean…” Nick roughed his palm over his cheeks, and he slammed a hand down on the faucet. A handful of droplets scattered onto the plates like rain. “Skylar! What are you doing?”
A great commotion broke from the room beyond before the girl poked her head inside. “Putting my shit away. Like you always tell me to.”
“Sure. Give Emma a tour while I start dinner.”
“She doesn’t have to. I’m sure she has important things to do.” Emma didn’t want to impose.
Nick pulled a spatula out of the rooster-themed canister and wielded it at Skylar. “There’s always your homework—”
“I’d love to give you a tour!” Skylar shouted in excitement. “This is the kitchen. It’s where he set the toaster on fire.”
“Because you crammed a Lego inside.”
“And through here is the sitting room…where he set the rug on fire.” Skylar leaned closer and stage-whispered to Emma, “Don’t let him have any matches.”
“I’m selling you to the zoo, assuming they’ll even take you.”
She knew she shouldn’t, but Emma couldn’t stop herself from laughing at the exasperated father-daughter routine they’d perfected. She’d been wondering all day where the mom was in this trio. There weren’t any pictures on the fridge, nor a calendar jam-packed with activities by the door. Maybe there were portraits in the sitting room.
“Come on, I’ll show you the bathroom.” Skylar waved her on. As Emma walked into a quaint room with a furry white couch facing a fireplace, the girl leaned into the kitchen and said, “Don’t burn dinner.”
All Emma could hear was Nick grumbling as the girl danced back on her toes. She moved with a hyperactive grace that Emma would kill to have. “Here’s where we sit when Nick thinks we need to have ‘screen-less’ time. Through there’s the office slash TV slash whatever doesn’t count as family time. It’s full of boxes of cafe shit he says he can’t throw out because of taxes. Ooh, this is the downstairs bathroom. It’s nice ‘cause it’s for guests.” She flipped the light on fast, revealing a flash of white tile and blue towels before the room went dark.
Taking her hand, Skylar pulled Emma around the small sitting room to a staircase. “Up here are the bedrooms. Mine’s on the left.”
Emma clung to the banister and gazed at the multitude of pictures on the wall. The black and white wedding portrait probably held his parents. There were more taken from the eighties of two boys racing each other in Big Wheels. At the fifth stair was a picture of a gangly Nick in a tux with a carnation boutonniere. She hunted for the mystery woman. There certainly were quite a few pictures of Skylar from a chubby infant up to a precocious grade-schooler. But the only picture of a woman that wasn’t a kindly grandmother was a wedding portrait with a man who wasn’t Nick.
“Can you believe that hair?” Skylar snickered, pointing to the mystery woman.
“Are there any pictures of your mom?” Emma asked out of pure curiosity, no other reason.
“Yeah, right here. With the electrified poodle look. Why?” she asked, folding her arms. The teenage glare caused Emma’s gaze to drop. “Oh! Do you think Nick’s my…?” Peals of laughter echoed off the picture frame, Skylar’s entire body shaking before it snapped on a dime, and she leaned closer. “Are you hoping he’s single?”
“No!” she cried out, Emma’s cheeks burning red-hot at the teenager smugly smiling.
“Kay,” she surmised and pointed to a door down the upper hallway. Emma scurried up beside her as she said, “That’s the second bathroom with the good shower. There’s my room. And that…” Skylar smacked her lips and bounced on her heels. “That’suncleNick’s bedroom. In case you need to find it later.”
A string of giggles broke from Emma, at first laughing ludicrously, then growing more strained from the rising panic. She was leaving in a day once her car was fixed. Why would she need to know where he slept? It was just dinner.
Skylar slapped her hands together. “That’s the tour. Better head back before the whole kitchen goes up in smoke.” She leaped down the stairs, taking them four at a time while Emma eased her way after.
At the landing, Skylar wrapped a hand around the top of the banister and swung in a circle. “He’s not married. Never been. If you’re curious.”
“I’m not. I was just…”
