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Mellow had never had matching cups before. He drank out of whatever Henry managed to scavenge or buy online. Ugly mugs shaped like bears from really old cartoons. Plastic cups in neon colors that were all scratched up and chewed on. Cups where the lettering came off a long time ago. Cups that had mysterious goop on the bottom that Henry wouldn't let Mellow throw away. What a hoarder. Henry would never let him have a glass cup. He was just too clumsy. Mellow peeked into the box of neatly packed cups standing in equal lines.
“Alright Mellow, will you help me clean these glasses?” Mirianne lifted two crystal clear cylinders into the air. They weren't anything special or exactly interesting in any way; they were just something to hold your water in. But Mellow stared anyway, taking in how the sun from the kitchen window bounced off the pristine glass in orange waves.
“But they're already clean,” Mellow said. Mirianne shrugged, her mouth pulling down at the corners. What a funny face. Mellow smiled; if he had said that to Henry, he would've made a funny face too. A funny mad face, though.
“That is true Mellow; they may look clean, but who knows who touched these beforehand.” She began to lay the glasses gently into the kitchen sink. “They could have, I don't know, not washed their hands after peeing.”
“Ew.”
‘Right.” Miranne turned back to retrieve the other glasses and smiled warmly at Mellow. ”Here, let me take these all to the sink. I have bigger hands than you, so I’ll be faster.”
The boy nodded and went to retrieve his folding stool from beside the trash can. Mellow really did like Miss Mirianne, but sometimes she said really obvious stuff. That's ok though, he decided as he propped the stool up. Because she's probably like, way wiser than him. Mellow climbed up the stool as Mirianne filled the sink with warm, soapy water. The bubbles gleamed like opals.
“Would you like to wash or dry?” Mirianne asked.
“Dry.” He didn't feel like getting all wet. Mirianne raised an eyebrow. “Please.” The monkey handed him a dishrag.
“Just make sure to get all the way down.” She hummed as she began to soap up the first glass. There weren't many, maybe around 10. That meant people would have to share - for now. It's not been too hard, sharing a space with so many people. Everyone is really, really nice to Mellow. Not to mention he has a really cool spot to sleep on the armchair. It only gets a little cramped sometimes, and it really sucks to wait for the bathroom, but Mellow doesn't think he would have it any other way.
Mirianne handed him the first clean glass. It was dripping with water, its crystal surface completely smooth. Mellow grabbed it with both hands - one on the bottom and the other on the top - for maximum safety. He carefully twisted the cloth around the glass before gently stuffing the rag inside.
“Ms. Mirianne,” Mellow presented the glass. “Like this?”
She smiled, kind of. Mellow recognized that look by the way her eyes tightened. She was getting upset. Getting upset meant bad things. “Uh, yeah! But you can - here, let me show you.
His throat tightened when she took the glass from his hands. Mirianne demonstrated how to do it correctly. Mellow’s windpipe felt like someone was trying to tie a knot in it.
“Okay, got it?’ She handed the glass back to him. He didn't want to upset her any more, so he just nodded. Mellow placed the glass on the counter and moved on to dry the next one he was handed. He copied her moves exactly. He felt the knot relax when Mirianne looked over and smiled at him. Nice, that meant he was doing well.
“You know, my mom would get really mad when she could see the fingerprints on the dishes.” Mirianne began to reminisce while she scrubbed. “She would make us polish them, and I always wondered why we did it! We didn't just do it for special occasions, no, we had to do it every day.” She chuckled to herself, shaking her head. Another cup was headed his way. “I guess when you're mayor, it really goes to your head. Good thing I don't have to worry about that anymore, right, Mellow?”
He grunted in response. The whole house was used to Mellow’s weird way of communicating by now. Another glass down, what, like, 7 more to go? They continued their monotonous routine together, the clean glasses now far outnumbering the dirty ones. Mellow became more confident with every swipe of his rag. He was doing it. No, not only that, he was doing it right.
“Good work, Mellow, we’re almost done. Mirrianne thrummed. It was odd to hear her (mostly) quiet the whole time. She was always so busy, even when there was nothing to do. Mellow noticed this little quirk of hers. If he couldn't find her, then she was usually doing something crazy like vacuuming the ceiling or scrubbing under those weird little pegs at the bottom of the toilet. Thinking back on it, Mellow didn't understand it at all. But now as he scrubs his 9th dish, he realizes how nice it is to feel busy. To do something kind of boring for once. It was nice to do something over and over again. To just be still. Mellow slouched down in his stool, reaching deep into the glass to soak up any water droplets at the bottom. It was nice to have nothing to worry about, nicer than he ever thought it could be. Would it be weird if he said he didn't want the task to end? Mirianne handed him the last glass. Mellow reached for it, his hands wrapping around the clear top, and then-
The lip slips away from his fingers,
The glass falls to its side.
Rolls off the counter,
And shatters onto the ground.
Mellow quickly shot away from the sound, from Mirianne, from the hit that was soon to come, falling backwards off of the stool. Mirianne just stood there, dumbfounded.
“Mellow!” She shouted, her hands still in the sink. She quickly pulled the drain and shook the bubbles from her paws. Mellow sprang up to his feet, his throat closing like a twist tie. His hands instinctively shot up to cover his head. Mirianne tensed.
“STOP!”
He stopped. Then, he peeked out from his fingers. His blue eyes were the size of dinner plates, the sun cascading over the tears that were threatening to spill. “Don't move. Ok, good, you have your shoes on.” A familiar figure peered in from the doorway. A blow was yet to come, whether someone was watching or not. Mellow waited patiently for it.
“Catthew, can you grab a dustpan and a broom?”
“Whoa, big mess! No problem, I got it!” Catthew hurried away to complete his task. Mellow didn't even turn to look at who was speaking. He only stood still. Sweating. Shaking. Waiting.
“Just… back up…’ Mirianne’s voice was steady and careful. Mellow took a step back. She had this look in her eyes. Not like she was annoyed, or upset, or anything. Mellow couldn't understand it. He took another step back.
And another.
Then another,
And another step until he was out of the kitchen.
He kept backing away until he made it to the stairs, where he then sprinted past Catthew (who was carrying a broom and dustpan, and looking very confused) whizzed down the hall and straight into the bathroom. He slammed the door behind him and turned the lock. The boy sat himself directly on the bath mat and wrapped his arms around himself. The bathroom was always the safest place in the house. One could lock themselves in and never have to explain it. He could try to hide himself in the bedroom, in a cupboard, or under tables, but he would always be found. Sometimes the safest spots were the most obvious. He covered his ears so he couldn't hear whatever they were talking about downstairs. He didn't know what they were talking about, and he didn't need to know. He learned that lesson early on. When Henry would ramble on about Mellow’s bad behavior, it was best to just shut it out. Even though Mellow didn't get hit, he still felt the sting of imaginary contact across his face. What a familiar feeling. He curled tighter.
Someone knocked on the door. Mellow unfurled himself but remained quiet. They knocked again. Maybe if he stayed still, they would go away.
“Mellow, bubby, is that you in there?” It was Mirianne. He was found. Mellow dragged himself to the door. There was no use hiding himself now. He unlocked the door and opened it to a very concerned monkey. She immediately grabbed his hands. Mellow screwed his eyes shut.
“Did you get cut anywhere?” She murmured in a low voice, mostly talking to herself. “You look ok, Mellow. Are you ok?” Mirianne attempted direct eye contact, which failed instantly. His blue eyes were locked on his red shoes. She carefully lifted Mellow up by the torso and sat him onto the closed toilet. She inspected his shoes, his shirt, then his face. His eyes never left her hands. She seemed pleased by his lack of injuries. Nervously, she cleared her throat.
“Look, I dont have a lot of experience with people like you.” Mirianne tugged at her bow as she spoke. “Kids, I mean. I've been mayor, but I've never kissed a baby, if you get what I mean. But I can tell something is bothering you, Mellow.” She crossed her legs. “Will you tell me what it is?”
Mellow glanced away to the open door. He folded his hands together tightly before returning his gaze back to her.
“It’s okay, Miss Mirianne.” His feet gently swayed as they hung off the ground. “You can hit me now. I know I messed up, but just get it over with.
The monkey's face twisted. “What? Mellow, why would I do that?”
Embarrassed, he only shrugged. She slowly moved to reach out to him, her hand moving deliberately so as to not scare him. Carefully, as if he were glass, she patted his head.
“It was a mistake.” Her words were as calm as her motions. “And, even if you did it on purpose, I wouldn't hit you.”
“Okay, sorry, Miss. Mirianne.” His throat began to untwist - slightly. Slowly. It would take a while for his adrenaline to subside.
“Nothing to be sorry about at all, Mellow.” Mirianne stood up and offered her hand out for Mellow to take. The boy hopped off the porcelain throne and took her paw, squeezing it tightly.
“How about we make a nice pitcher of lemonade to fill our new glasses?” She suggested, her tail curling up alongside her lips. Mellow shyly pulled his cap over his eyes.
“I don't wanna squeeze a lemon.” He pouted.
“It's the powdered kind, Mellow.” She whispered. Mellow perked. He liked the way the mix tasted when it settled on the bottom of a cup, sour and gritty.
He sucked on his teeth; it was like he could taste it. “Oh, okay.” He was nonchalant, trying not to hide his excitement. She squeezed his hand back, leading him out of the bathroom. Away from his safe space. Maybe he won't need to hide so much anymore.
“Sounds yummy.” He smiled up at Miss Mirianne as he began down the stairs. “Thank you, Miss.”
She beamed back at him. “Of course, Mellow.”