Page 59 of Cinder
I roll onto my side and swing my feet to the floor, pulling a T-shirt over my head as the rhythm carries faintly down the hallway. This is a quieter and more contained version of what happens later once Elle’s up, something that sounds like sunlight even when it’s barely morning.
I step into the hallway and follow the sound toward the kitchen.
I gave Penny a key for the back door the night she moved in, handed it over with a quick explanation about deadbolts and how the latch sticks if you don’t lift the handle first. It was practical. She needs to have access to the house earlier and later than I do sometimes. Like right now, when she’s already up and preparing for Elle to wake up.
The kitchen light is on, and when I step through the door, she’s there, barefoot on the tile, hair piled on top of her head in a loose knot that’s already half fallen out. She has an oversized T-shirt brushing her mid-thigh, where sleep shorts peek out when she reaches up to grab something from the pantry.
She’s moving to the rhythm without thinking about it, moving around my kitchen like she’s been here for years instead of a week. I’m not sure when that started bothering me less than it should.
Fleetwood Mac’sYou Make Loving Funfloats softly from the speaker on the counter, and she sings the lyrics under her breath about believing in magic and spells nobody seems ready to break.
There’s coffee already dripping. A lunchbox open on the counter, and a chopping board beside it, covered in sliced strawberries.
I lean against the doorway and don’t announce myself, waiting until she spins toward the fridge and nearly drops the knife when she sees me.
Her lips part, and a soft, relieved laugh leaves her mouth.
“Do you always spy on people in your own kitchen?”
“I live here.”
“So do I,” she shoots back, grinning as she opens the fridge.
She turns back to the counter like I’m not standing there watching her and reaches for a sandwich she’s already prepared.The bread has been shaped with something, and the edges are rounded off, the crust trimmed.
“What’s that supposed to be?”
She holds it up between her fingers, and I notice the two olives pressed in for eyes.
“A penguin,” she says, as if it’s obvious. “First day back deserves special edition sandwiches.”
“It’s school, not a state visit.”
“Yeah well,” Penny sighs with a smile. “She’s five. So she’s getting the royal treatment.”
She slides the sandwich into the lunchbox and reaches for a wooden skewer, piercing grapes and blueberries onto it, followed by the sliced strawberries. There’s a crease between her brows as she focuses, and she chews the inside of her cheek while threading the fruit into place.
The song drifts into the chorus, and she tilts her head slightly, mouthing the words like she’s somewhere else for a second.
“You like Fleetwood Mac?”
She shrugs one shoulder. “My dad did. He used to put this song on in the kitchen on Saturdays and dance with my mom.”
Her voice softens, but she doesn’t elaborate further. Instead, she’s cutting slices of cheese into hearts to add in with the crackers.
“That’s excessive,” I tell her.
“It’s festive.”
“She won’t care.”
“She absolutelywillcare.”
I watch as she picks a pen up and draws something quickly onto a small piece of paper.
“Jesus, what the hell is that?”
“A penguin doodle and joke. It’s a backup.”
