Worried Daughter
A Slice of the Mundane Life
The kitchen was too warm with the radiator emanating heat behind me and the blue circle of flames flickering at the stove in front. My forearms were pasted to a sticky table mat as my mother leaned away from a popping frying pan with tongs. Her brows were furrowed as she said, “I check up on him in the middle of the night to make sure he’s breathing.”
I’d been staring at the L-shaped counter top, trying to find a space that wasn’t occupied by a stack of dishes, mugs ringed with coffee, stray utensils, crumpled napkins, and a microwave covered in smudgy fingerprints. Little did she know I hated visiting because of the mess and her propensity to exaggerate on any issue. My temples pulsed at the sight, but for a change, her words distracted annoyance with concern. Apparently, my dad had more than the average flu and was suffering such horrible coughing fits that he needed an inhaler to calm his lungs.
The man always pulled me into a duet in the middle of the chaotic living room, with some Motown soundtrack raised at high volume because I was the only that would cave to his cajoling. He was reaching sixty and was skinnier than he used to be; the muscles that once felt like boulders on his arms were now what I dubbed mine: ‘bunnies’.
I was surprised at the weakness of my voice. “He’s not going to die is he?”
A champagne light shone through the window above the sink, tanning a figurine of the Virgin Mary next to a coke bottle of tiny flowers. It streaked my mother’s arms as she turned. “No! Don’t be silly.”
With a small smile, she presented me with a pretty meal of chicken, mash, and greens that smelled of seasonings and comfort. “Here you go babe.”