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He’s sitting across from her daughter at the kitchen table when she arrives home from work, making his way through a bowl of cereal and half-listening to something the little girl said while she toes off her heels by the door. His hair’s a mess and he looks like he’s only recently rolled out of bed, but it’s not like Lori’s is any better. The braids Tim did for her yesterday are starting to fall out, leaving wisps of hair falling down into her face. Sylvia leaves her purse on the hook and pads into the kitchen, hiding a yawn behind a hand. Graveyard shifts at the switchboard never got easier, but the extra pay was always worth it.
“Hi, Momma,” Lori greets through a mouthful of cheerios. Recently, she’s been going through a phase where she doesn’t take cereal with milk, and the dry cereal crunches loudly in her mouth as she chews around a smile. Dallas, with cheerios as well, and a bowl full of milk, raises his spoon in a silent hello.
Sylvia smiles as she kisses her daughter’s head and absently picks up a few stray cheerios that had fallen onto the table. She dumps them back into Lori’s bowl and turns to the waiting coffee pot. It’s still warm so she grabs a mug and pours herself a generous amount before stopping by the sink. Sylvia cradles the mug and eyes Dallas.
He cocks an eyebrow and stuffs another spoonful of cereal in his mouth. “What are you lookin’ at?”
She takes a demure sip of her coffee. “Tryin’ to figure out what your ass is doin’ in my house before 8:00. Thought you never woke up ‘fore noon.”
Lori giggles, looking between her mother and Dallas as she crunches on her cheerios. She spins to look at Sylvia. “Uncle Dally’s takin’ me to school, Momma.”
“What happened to Buck?”
Dallas shrugged. “Said he had to go help with some new horses. Bastard woke me up by dropping that damned dog on my head and shoutin’ till I got up.”
“Uncle Dally said a bad word.”
“He’s fine, Lor,” Sylvia murmurs after taking another sip of coffee. “Just don’t start talkin’ like him, alright? We don’t need you sayin’ those words or talkin’ like a yankee.”
“Who’s talkin’ like a yankee?” Tim’s voice questions. He pokes his head into the kitchen, blue eyes bright and dark hair greased back, while he knots a dark red tie around his neck. He spots Dally sitting at the table and pauses. “What are you doin’ here?”
Dally waves to Lori with his spoon. “Takin’ the kid to school.”
Tim shoots Sylvia a look. “You okay with that? Puedo decirle que se pierda .”
“It’s fine,” Sylvia mumbles into her coffee. She doesn’t care, Dally’s not the worst person to be dropping Lori off at kindergarten and if everyone else is busy, she’s grateful that Dally’s helping out. “Just make sure she gets there on time, alright? I don’t need you gettin’ her in trouble.”
A slow smirk spreads across Dally’s face. “I’m a saint, doll. You think I’d really get in trouble?”
“Yes,” Sylvia and Tim answer in tandem, causing Lori to giggle once more.
The knot in Tim’s tie is uneven and Sylvia sets her half-empty mug down to fix it. Tim lifts his chin to give her more room and watches Lori while Sylvia’s fingers deftly undo the knot before re-tying it far better than he had managed.
“Did you grab your caja de almuerzo, chiquita? ”
“ Sí, Tío ,” Lori replies easily. She scoops up the last spoonful of dry cereal in her bowl and stuffs it in her mouth before sliding out of her chair and dutifully carrying her bowl and spoon over to the sink. She’s barely tall enough to reach, but she leans on her tip-toes and drops them both into the basin. “Momma, can you help me tie my shoes?”
“Momma’s busy,” Sylvia replies. She spares a glance down at Lori as she straightens Tim’s collar. “Ask Dally to do it.”
Dally sighs mightily, like Sylvia’s just asked him to complete a herculean task, and pushes up from the table before heading toward the living room, muttering for Lori to hurry up and go with him because he’s not going to wait around all day for her. Lori skips along after him, leaving Tim and Sylvia alone in the kitchen.
“You ready for the meeting?” she asks softly. She runs her hands along the tie, smoothing out imaginary wrinkles in his shirt instead of meeting his eyes.
“Won’t be my first one,” he reminds her in that same soft tone.
It’s moments like this where Sylvia can convince herself that his eyes still hold the same spark that it did when they were kids. It’s moments like this where Sylvia can’t convince herself that she doesn’t like seeing that spark.
“Just be careful alright? And be smart.” She eventually stops fiddling with his collar and picks up her mug of coffee once more to give her hands something to hold onto before she goes and does something stupid like pull Tim in for a kiss by his tie. “You know Lori needs you around here. She doesn’t like when I try to sing your lullabies.”
Tim grins at that. The scar puckers on the side of his face but Sylvia’s gotten so used to the sight that it does nothing but make him look even more handsome in her eyes. “She doesn’t like it ‘cause you don’t sing it right.”
“Not my fault,” Sylvia defends. “I don’t speak es-pan-yol, like you do.”
Her words earn a fond shake of his head and Tim chuckles.
“Do me a favor,” he murmurs as he takes her coffee and takes a long sip. “Don’t ever say that again.”
Then he’s mumbling a goodbye and a promise to be back before lunch and he presses a kiss to her cheek, just like a friend would, and he’s gone out the side door. Sylvia, alone in the kitchen, wonders if one day, that kiss will be something a little different.
Her wonderings are cut off by the pattering of feet as Lori races back into the kitchen with shoes perfectly tied.
“I’m goin’ to school now, Mama,” she tells Sylvia while she hugs her leg tightly.
Sylvia leans down to press a kiss to her curls, tucking the stray pieces behind her little ears. “Be good.”
Lori returns the favor by pressing a smacking kiss to Sylvia’s cheek and then she’s off too, racing out the door to where Buck’s car sits on the side of the street. Dallas leans against the wall for a moment, watching Sylvia.
“What are you lookin’ at?” she asks, echoing his words from earlier as she takes another sip of coffee. Another cup or two of it and she might actually be able to make it through the day.
“He kissed you, didn’t he?”
“Get out of my house.”