A Bit of Sweetness

September 4th

Dad wasn’t too surprised last night when I joined him in the kitchen. I tried to be calm, walk in, sit at the table and wait until he had finished cooking the milk. But when I saw him in his old flannel robe and slippers, standing in front of the stove, stirring slowly, gazing into the steam that was just starting to rise off the milk, I ran to him and wrapped my arms around him. I leaned my head against the soft spot right beneath his shoulder blade.

“I’m sorry we woke you up, Mandy girl,” he said softly.

“I don’t want to go back to the Addicted Cities, Daddy.” I blurted out my worst fears.

He turned around and held me against his chest. “You won’t have to, honey. Your mother’s just tense because of her pregnancy. It’ll pass.”

“What if it doesn’t?”

“It will, don’t worry.” I could tell he was trying very hard to keep the worry from showing in his own voice.

“Does the warm milk really work?”

“It used to when I was a kid. Want to try some?”

“Yes.” I released my hold on him and sat down at the table.

He reached into the cupboard and brought down my hot chocolate mug. “Personally, I don’t like the taste much unless you add a little sugar and cinnamon. So let me know.”

“Don’t worry, I will.”

“What did you think about our guest?” Dad asked as he ladled milk into the three cups.

I shrugged. “He smelled kind of funky.”

“He smells the way your grandfather smelled back before we gave up the farm and moved to the city.” He had stopped dishing out the milk. “I miss that smell.”

“Want me to take a cup to Mom?”

“I’d better do it,” he said. “You go ahead and try yours. If you don’t like it, add some sugar and cinnamon until it tastes right.”

“Are you putting some in Mom’s?”

Dad reached for the sugar and paused. Then he put our cups on the table. “Why don’t we get ours right first and then I’ll take the sugar and cinnamon back to her so she can decide?”

I sipped the milk. It did taste kind of funny. I added a little sugar and cinnamon and tasted it again. It reminded me a little of the melted ice cream left after you finished your apple pie. “It’s good now.”

“OK. I’ll be back in a few minutes and we’ll talk some more.” He put the two cups of milk, the sugar, and the cinnamon on a cookie sheet and walked back down the hall.

I sipped my milk and waited for him to return, but he never did. After I finished my milk, I went back to my own room. My mother’s sobs had stopped and I could hear my father snoring gently.