Chapter 4 - Breakfast at Seven
At seven o’clock the next morning, Alexander was in the kitchen.
He wore a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up and a dark tie hanging
loose around his collar. A pan smoked on the stove. Two pieces of toast
had turned almost black.
I stopped in the doorway.
“What are you doing?”
“Making breakfast.”
I looked at the pan.
“Is it supposed to look like that?”
“No.”
I took the spatula from him before the smoke alarm could go off.
Noah appeared in the doorway wearing blue pajamas and carrying Bunny by
one ear.
“Daddy?”
Alexander turned.
“Good morning, buddy.”
Noah looked at the stove, then at me.
“Is Daddy cooking?”
“He is trying,” I said.
Alexander placed a hand over his heart. “I am being judged in my own
kitchen.”
Noah smiled, just a little.
It was the first time I had seen him smile at his father without
checking first whether it was safe.
We made pancakes together. Noah stirred the batter while Alexander
measured the flour. I kept the pan from becoming another disaster.
At the table, Noah sat between us.
He ate half a pancake, then looked at his father.
“Are you going to work?”
“Not this morning.”
“After breakfast?”
“I’ll stay until we finish your puzzle.”
Noah studied him.
“Promise?”
Alexander looked at me for a moment, then turned back to his son.
“I promise.”
After breakfast, they worked on a wooden puzzle of a lighthouse.
Alexander was terrible at it. Noah corrected him three times and laughed
when he put a piece in backward.
I watched from the kitchen doorway.
It was a small scene. Nothing dramatic. No guests, no chandeliers, no
women in white gowns.
But it felt more important than the entire ceremony.
Later, Alexander asked to speak with me.
“I’ve reviewed your employment file,” he said. “Your hours have been
extended repeatedly without proper notice. Your overtime hasn’t been
recorded accurately. My mother approved deductions for damaged household
items that you didn’t damage.”
I felt my stomach tighten.
“I knew the hours were wrong.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I needed the job.”
He looked ashamed.
“That’s not an excuse for how you were treated.”
He offered to pay the missing wages and have an independent employment
adviser review the arrangement.
I agreed to speak with the adviser, but I did not accept a new contract
immediately.
“I need time,” I said.
“Take it.”
“And Noah needs to understand that I’m not his mother.”
Alexander looked toward the playroom.
“His mother died. He knows that.”
“He knows the words. He doesn’t always understand what they mean when
he’s frightened.”
“What should I say to him?”
“The truth. That his mother loved him. That I care about him. That I can
be someone safe without replacing her.”
Alexander nodded.
That afternoon, he brought a photograph of Clara from his study. It
showed her sitting on the nursery floor, laughing as baby Noah reached
for a wooden toy.
He placed it on the shelf beside Noah’s bed.
Noah stared at it for a long time.
Then he asked his father to tell him about her.
May you like
Alexander sat beside him.
And for the first time, he did.
